


Fluid Dynamics

by Shimegami



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Art School, Haru being a little shit, M/M, Mentions of drug use and underage drinking, Past Underage Sex, Promiscuity, Running Away, Slow Build, Teenage Rebellion, The Challenge Fic That Ate Me Holy Shit, Tumblr: iwatobiartfics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-01-22 01:46:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1571438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shimegami/pseuds/Shimegami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haruka wishes he could have grown up in Iwatobi.  The sleepy seaside town is far more appealing than the concrete jungle of Tokyo, and maybe he could even have friends and live with his cherished grandmother  Unfortunately, he doesn't and Iwatobi remains nothing but a vacation spot and an escapist dream as he grows older.  Now, a twenty-year-old runaway attending college and working in a coffee shop, Haruka's only freedoms are the pool, sex, and trying to capture those elusive memories of that small town with his paints.  But, surprisingly, a little piece of Iwatobi appears in Haruka's life all of a sudden...and with him, a whole slew of confusing problems and, perhaps, true freedom.</p>
<p>AKA the fic where Haruka doesn't grow up in Iwatobi and, like ripples, everything changes.</p>
<p>Written for the iwatobiartfics challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. So. This is what has been absorbing me since February ahahahaha. It's still not done and I have no idea when it will be, but since the actual challenge seems to have been abandoned, I consulted with my teammates and we decided to just post up what we had. Since I have it up, it'll be added to my normal rotation of fics and I'll resume work on the older ones. Sorry for not producing anything of note since February! This really did eat up all my creative juices. x_x It was meant to be a oneshot but very rapidly got out of hand.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Beta'd by starrycrowndrop.tumblr.com, art by umbrella-ghost.tumblr.com

Art by the lovely [Ghost!](http://umbrella-ghost.tumblr.com) <3

* * *

 

Haruka wished he could have lived in Iwatobi forever.

It was quiet and peaceful. Almost anywhere you went in the small town the sound of the ocean waves followed you. People actually smiled at each other, knew others on sight, and stopped for spontaneous chats in the streets. The salty air was almost always blowing, a refreshing tingle that smelled clean and free. Overall, the town emitted a sleepy, calming aura that made Haruka feel like he was home at last.

It was miles away from the stainless steel and glass monoliths of Tokyo that Haruka had grown up in, and Haruka wished he never had to leave. He wished his parents had never left in the first place – if it were Haruka, he would never have left for Tokyo. Iwatobi was everything he wanted, and he wished they didn't come here only once a year – a combined trip for both a summer vacation and Obon. He wished, every time, that this time would be the time they didn't leave for Tokyo again.

He asked his mother why they ever left, one time. The incredulous look she gave him, combined with her pursed lips and her clipped reply of “Of course we left, a tiny dying town is no place for a proper future”, made Haruka realize that he and his parents were very different people. “For the future” was his mother's favorite phrase – she nagged him about doing his schoolwork for the future, making friends for the future, thinking about his grades and his job and his life for the future. It was like she was incapable of thinking about anything but this imaginary perfect future she had in her head. It made him wonder if she was ever happy at all with the present. What sort of life was that, trying to hurry to some far-off future when it only made you unhappy right now? What was the point of that?

They were so different sometimes that, for a while, Haruka was convinced that he was adopted. His mother's obsession with a “good future” was just so alien to him. He invented a whole fantasy in his head that one day he'd go to Iwatobi and his real family would pick him up and he'd live in the seaside town with people who understood him forever. By the time he was ten, however, that notion was pushed out of his brain. Not only did his reflection keep crawling closer and closer to his mother when he looked in the mirror, it also became obvious that he was very much his father's child, personality-wise – few words and fewer expressions. His parents were his real parents, for better or worse.

Not that he could relate to his father, either – while his mother preached endlessly about the future, his father was a taciturn wall, as unfathomable to Haruka as the deep ocean. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking at all – a complaint often leveled at Haruka himself, as well – and when he called Iwatobi “boring” once, Haruka decided that it was probably for the best. He just had to resign himself to never understanding his parents and their obsession with some abstract concept of the future when they never bothered to live in the here and now.

In fact, Haruka had a sneaking suspicion that he himself was just another of their “future” plans. It was right and proper to have children, a son to carry along the family line and continue that nebulous “future”. A son that they had because of their plans – not because they wanted _him_ , specifically.

Haruka didn't like it.

Iwatobi brought him peace. The ocean was clean and bright, and he could swim for what felt like forever in the warm waters, even if he didn't like the waves much. When he didn't feel like swimming, he could spend hours in his grandmother's presence, sitting by her side as she sewed or knitted or did calligraphy, the scent of sea salt and incense and tea strong in the air. The wind chimes blended in with her low voice and the warm summer breeze as she told him stories, and the sound and smell of frying mackerel accompanied making mounts out of cucumber and eggplant for the ancestors to ride back on. His grandmother, like his father and Haruka himself, was a woman of few words when it came to personal feelings, but her simple “you're a good child, Haruka” meant more to Haruka than any endless declarations of affection ever could, and her gnarled fingers running through his hair made him feel more at home than his bedroom in Tokyo ever did. Her voice was the only one that didn't annoy Haruka when she spoke his girly name.

He thought that maybe, if he lived in Iwatobi, he would be happier. He could be with his grandmother forever. He could visit the ocean every day. There was no oppressive aura of rushing like in Tokyo – everyone there, including his parents, seemed in such a hurry to get old and die, instead of appreciating the life they had at that very moment.

He might even have friends for once in his life. A “Makoto-kun” popped up in his grandmother's stories a lot. She said that he was a sweet boy, always ready to help her, an old lady that lived across the street from him, and that Haruka would probably like him if he met him. Since his grandmother liked him, Haruka was predisposed to like him as well, and maybe, if he was so nice, he wouldn't pretend Haruka didn't exist like the kids in his school did. Haruka was “weird”, they said. He made them uncomfortable somehow, and not once had Haruka ever had a friend.

Not that he needed one, really. He was fine on his own. But he couldn't help but think that it looked very fun to have a friend. All the other kids were so happy and laughed so much, so Haruka wondered if perhaps he'd smile more too if he had a friend.

Unfortunately, because they didn't live in Iwatobi, he couldn't meet this Makoto, couldn't talk to him about the pain of having girly names together, couldn't invite him to play in the waves like dolphins together. Since it was Obon whenever Haruka came, Makoto and his family were always gone for the week to visit their own relatives, and Haruka had never seen him.

Yet another reason Haruka wished he lived here year-round.

When he was eleven, he made a decision. As soon as he was able, he was going to move in with his grandmother. He knew his parents wouldn't allow it when he was still young, but once he was older, able to help his grandmother instead of being taken care of by her, he would leave Tokyo and never look back.

He told his grandmother of this decision that year during their visit. She didn't say anything for a long while, and Haruka wondered if he had said something wrong – his mother often stared at him with a hard look whenever he voiced his own opinions, that same look the kids at school got when they called him “weird” and “creepy” and “that loner freak”, and so he had long decided that speaking his mind to anyone that he didn't trust was worthless. But then she smiled and petted his hair like she always did, saying that he was a good child and that she'd be happy to have him.

Although he was glad to have her blessing, that pause left Haruka confused for a long time. If she would be happy to have him, why did she sound so sad?

He figured out why two years later, when she passed away.

Sitting at the wake, staring at the lone picture sitting at the front of the room, Haruka realized that she must have known. She had known that she didn't have long left, that she wouldn't be here long enough for Haruka to grow up and come take care of her. That was why she sounded so sad.

His parents sat beside him, black-clad monoliths with masks for faces. His mother had had a strained relationship at best with his grandmother, a sort of truce that they simply did not discuss personal matters with each other since they did not agree on things. Even though she put up appearances to be the “good daughter-in-law”, it was clear that she felt a little relieved that a troublesome person was gone from her life. And despite the fact that she was his mother, his father's expression never changed. Haruka thought he understood why his peers called him creepy now – the infamous Nanase poker face wasn't really nice to see from the outside. His own blank face and dry eyes frustrated him – perhaps if he could have cried, screamed, let his face crumple in sadness, _anything_ , maybe he'd have felt better. Maybe the deep blackness inside of him would have faded a bit if it could have escaped.

But he was as stone-faced as his father, and he cursed himself for it. She had deserved better than blank apathy.

Those feelings of self-hatred and loss turned into a black swell of depression that seemed to swallow him after that. He had set his plans on moving to Iwatobi after graduation, but his grandmother was now gone – and with her, the house. His parents had felt no need to keep a house they would never need, and had sold it almost immediately. Indeed, almost before his grandmother had been properly cremated and interred.

He had spoken up about that. He had wanted to live there. That house was the last bright thing to cling to – if they had kept it, perhaps he might have convinced his parents to let him move there. Perhaps he could have attended high school in Iwatobi. But there it went, thrown away as if his parents couldn't get rid of it fast enough – and with it, any trips back to the small seaside town.

When he had said that, his mother had given him such a stupefied, _withering_ look, as if he was insane. “What does that house matter to you, Haruka? It was just a waste of money and Iwatobi is a dead end. There was no need to keep it and no need for you to go there. Your future prospects are much better here. ”

Future prospects. College, jobs, family, _future_. It was all she knew. Haruka was starting to hate the future.

Through the rest of middle school and into the beginnings of high school, he was lost. He had lost the future he wanted, and the one his parents wanted for him loomed over his head. An ever-present shadow, and the weight of even the thought of it threatened to crush him. He withdrew even more into himself, started to find inventive ways to skip school and find somewhere, anywhere, where he felt like he could breathe. He wanted so desperately to be free from the heaviness of all these expectations on him, but his safe places were all gone – Iwatobi, his grandmother, her house. The only place that felt safe anymore was the bath, and he only got an hour there before his mother started knocking furiously at the door and the peace vanished.

It was during this time, when his body was maturing into an adult and he started stuffing casual clothes into his bag so he could change and flee from school another day, that he discovered a new form of freedom.

The realization that he preferred guys over girls had come in the last year of middle school, where a combination of locker rooms, the porn he saw passed between his male classmates, and vivid dreams made him realize that he liked guys. His eyes were naturally drawn to male forms, sneaking glances while everyone was changing for gym. He found girls completely unappealing – the naked or half-naked forms he glimpsed from the magazines his classmates passed around did nothing for him, and the traveling flocks of giggling girls in the halls with their perfume made him grimace instead of stare in awe. And, without fail, in every dream he woke up from with remnants of phantom pleasure coursing through his veins he didn’t see breasts or soft faces or long hair in his memories, but toned muscles and hard planes instead, flat and smooth and obviously male.

He didn't say a word of this to his parents. He knew the reaction he would get – men couldn't get married, couldn't have children together, it would have been against that ever-present future his mother so harped about.

He didn't like it at first. It was another failure on his part. The thought of being forced to marry a girl when he had no taste for them left ashes in his mouth, and it deepened his despair over the whole mess. But in his second year of high school, roaming the streets of downtown Tokyo as he skipped class yet again, he discovered an outlet. A reason to embrace it.

A handsome stranger, with brown hair and a nice smile, caught his eyes. Unlike most who met his eyes, the stranger didn’t look away. Instead, he smiled. And winked. And Haruka walked over, as if drawn like a magnet.

It was a quick and messy affair in a dark movie theater as Haruka learned how to give a blow job. The stranger told him that he kind of sucked, but ruffled his hair and said he'd get better with practice. The pleasure throbbing through his veins was far better with a real person's tongue in his mouth and hand on his dick, far better than dreams or his own hand, and in the heady wave of orgasm, Haruka felt far better than he had in years. In those few moments of pounding pulse and stars in his eyes, he felt _free_.

The first experience opened a door. He discovered Nichoume, discovered that he wasn't alone, discovered that there was a whole society of people with the same tastes. He learned that all he had to do was send the right signals and in a few minutes he could be in some stranger's bed, chasing that euphoric freedom. He did get better at blow jobs with practice, although his mouth was a little too dainty for him to enjoy it all that much.

It was a heady, addicting feeling, more so than drugs or alcohol – which he did try, but he didn't feel free with those, just muddied and confused and depressed, so he stopped. But the sex, _that_ was addictive. He _needed_ that freedom. He _needed_ those fifteen minutes or so where he couldn't think of the future or his parents or anything at all except the pleasure. He _needed_ to forget about everything before it crushed him flat.

Addiction, however, had consequences, and he got careless. He skipped more often. His grades started slipping. He got bolder in who he started soliciting, and that was where it fell apart.

He found a classmate who was interested. He barely knew the guy's name – Michida or something – but being a classmate meant that he knew who Haruka was, where he lived. When he went home with the guy and Michida's father walked in on them when Haruka's mouth was wrapped around the guy's dick, it meant that word could get back to Haruka's own parents as well.

They, predictably, did not react well.

His mother went on a ranting tirade, asking him what the hell he was doing, thinking. Where did they go wrong? What was wrong with him? He should have known better! And, since she couldn't go a day without mentioning it, of course he got treated to a whole rant about his future. Why was he throwing it away, why wasn't he thinking about it, didn't he realize that he only had a year left? Why wasn't he focusing on his schoolwork and a good college and instead wallowing in sin? He wasn't getting younger! Didn't he think about anything? Didn't he realize how important this was? Didn't he realize that he had no future with men?

His father sat there silently, not saying a word, but disapproval radiated off him in waves. There was no sympathy from that direction either.

Haruka couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't take the endless repetitions of “future, future”, as if it was the only thing that mattered. He couldn't take his life being planned for him from birth until the grave. He couldn't take the dead weight of that lifeless future, pressing down on him like the deepest ocean, but worse, because at least he could swim in the ocean. Here, they didn't even let him go to the public pools – a waste of time, they said. They had enrolled him in cram school instead.

He couldn't take it. So when he was banished to his room to “think about his future”, he went quietly, already planning. He _was_ thinking about his future, and he had decided that he didn’t want the one they wanted for him. If he didn't want the weight, he had to escape from it.

He packed a duffel bag with what he could. Clothes, some snacks he had stashed in his room, the few possessions and knick-knacks from his grandmother that he had managed to keep – her picture, for example, or the little dolphin bath toy she had given him when he was five and that he'd bathed with ever since. He packed up everything of value to him, and it was depressing that the bag wasn't full at the end. Everything important in his life didn't even fill up a duffel bag.

He stuffed the bag under his bed and waited.

He waited until night. He waited until his parents went to sleep. It was two in the morning when he crept out on cat-soft feet. His parents had only learned of him skipping recently – he had been well-behaved at home. They hadn't thought to do anything to lock him in. They hadn't thought that he would have thought for himself and wanted to escape.

And he did. He walked out of the door, bag over his shoulder, and didn't look back.

Each step farther away from their apartment made him feel lighter, like he's flying, like _freedom_.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Looking back on his actions now, Haruka thinks he might have been a little stupid.

The running away itself was not the stupid part – he would turn down the chance to change that if offered – but the fact that he had done it so hastily with no plan in mind was. He had run out of his house of sixteen years with nothing but some clothes and trinkets. No money, barely any food, and no plan as to where to go.

Quite frankly, it was only blind luck that he hadn't degraded into some homeless bum somewhere, as he had been picked up that very first night.

Walking through a park, he had run into Tsuji Kenjirou – Kenji or just Ken to his friends since “Kenjirou sounds like a dog” – a freelance sculptor and self-proclaimed advocate of all types of love. He'd stopped, looked Haruka over with a critical eye, and asked if he would like a place to sleep in exchange for letting Kenjirou sculpt him.

Cold and shivering and crashing off the high of freedom as he realized that he didn't even know where to sleep, Haruka had agreed. Following strangers home was nothing new, anyways.

It would be romantic to say that Ken had opened his eyes or something, or that their relationship would end up in true love, but to be honest the man himself had left little impression on Haruka in the beginning.

No, what had sparked a new sense of wonder and life into Haruka's eyes was his apartment.

From the moment he stepped in, the smells of art and beauty assaulted his nose. Clay, paints, rubber. The living room was his studio, and art supplies covered the whole room in a liberal mess, but for Haruka it was like suddenly seeing in color. Haruka had a sketchbook, one of his few personal possessions neatly tucked into his duffel, but it was half-full at best since whenever she saw him using it his mother would give him a very pointed look and ask if his homework was done. It was clear that while she didn't necessarily object to art, she obviously thought it a waste of time for his future, and Haruka had learned to ignore the itch to draw and sketch whenever she was around.

Except here, here was someone making their future off art, and Haruka now truly realized what his freedom meant. It meant he could choose to do whatever he wanted. He had a choice. He still had responsibility for his actions, but now they were his actions and his alone, and he could pick and choose his responsibilities on his own terms.

He stayed with Ken for a year, and learned. He could draw whatever he wanted whenever he wanted, and Ken praised his talents instead of putting them down as a waste of time. He enrolled into a different high school at Ken's insistence – “Think of it not as a restriction of freedom, but as a base for greater freedom”, he'd said. The better he did, the more opportunities would open up for him, and wasn't that freedom? Ken convinced him that he should maximize his chances to choose his own future, if he really wanted to be free, and Haruka took that advice to heart. It felt far more liberating to choose for himself, anyways.

Of course, that year was not paradise either. The worry that his parents would find him and forcibly drag him back under their oppression was a constant dark cloud in the back of Haruka's mind, and he mentally counted down the days until he was of age. While Ken was a great guy who had the heart to take in an impulsive kid off the streets, he and Haruka were not exactly compatible when it came to personality. Ken was rather loud, a bit too openly emotional and affectionate, too messy, and while they had sex a few times, they weren't all that compatible in tastes – Haruka was too intense and quiet for Ken, and Ken was too laid-back and open for Haruka. It was quickly decided that they did better as roommates than sex friends.

There was also the issue of money. While Haruka's family had not been rich by any means, his father's job had been secure and cushy, and his mother had natural talent with saving money, so there had never been a time of need in the Nanase household.

Ken, however, was the definition of a struggling artist. His work was freelance, and while his sculptures and paintings could sell for a fair sum, it was always a gamble on when exactly that would be. To make ends meet, Ken worked two extra jobs as well during the nights, as a bartender during the weekends, and a shelf stocker for the local market during the weekdays. His budget barely supported himself and his expensive art supplies, and Haruka and his schooling was an extra burden. To cover his additional expenses, Haruka had gotten a job on his own – his old school had forbidden afterschool jobs, but his new one was far more flexible, probably due to not being as upscale. And so, Haruka ended up working in the afternoons at a little hole-in-the-wall coffee shop, called Idetica. It wasn't the best job ever – Haruka disliked coffee as he was steeped in memories of tea with his grandmother, he wasn't the best at customer service due to his blank face and monotone voice, and it was troublesome all around – but the owner was a good friend of Ken's who let them have free drinks once a day and it wasn't a hard job by any means. The hardest part, the latte art, was child's play for Haruka and his blooming artistic skills, and all manners of sea life graced the customers' coffees during Haruka's shifts.

Yes, some parts of it had been hard to deal with. Money, paranoia about his parents, Ken bringing home lovers of various genders at completely random times – usually when Haruka was abusing his bath privileges – and having to learn to work and buckle down under pressure was all troublesome. Haruka was also apparently lazier than he had thought himself, with how reluctant he was to drag himself out of the water in the mornings to start his days.

But Haruka had chosen this for himself. It hadn't been mapped and planned out like some sort of television show. These were his choices, and that made all the difference in the world.

And, finally, those choices were starting to bear fruit.

Haruka looks around his dorm room, taking in the sight. After a year of living with Ken, working hard to save money, and studying to pass his exams, he'd gotten into the local college. And now, here he is in his second year of college. Certainly not the elite college his parents had pressured for, just a little liberal arts university, but it is a college, and Haruka had gotten in on his own merits. He is free to pursue his own life and freedom now – he'd turned twenty over the summer break, so even if his parents find him now, they can do nothing.

He's done it. He's here, on his own two feet. His future is his own.

And it's time to start his day, now that he's done reminiscing nostalgically.

He shuts his sketchbook with a solid thunk, tossing it into his bag as he stands up from his desk in a fluid movement. He checks to make sure he has everything for the day – paper, books, writing utensils, his swimming supplies – and nods decisively. He takes a moment to stand before the picture of his grandmother sitting on the shelf, pressing his hands together and closing his eyes as he pays his respects. No incense, since it's against dorm rules, but he makes sure say goodbye to her every day.

_Don't worry, I'm fine_ , he thinks, hoping that his thoughts will reach wherever she is. _One day I'll come back, just like I promised._

He opens his eyes, studying the kind, dignified face and wise gaze watching him benignly from the photo, before turning around and heading out the door to class.

It's Tuesday, so his first class is creative writing. Haruka's not sure how he ended up in a writing class – words are by far his weakest point, even after a year of being gently prodded by Ken to “just say what's on your mind already, no one has the kind of freaky empathy needed to read your stone face!” – but nevertheless, it's a class and he has to pass it somehow. And that means no skipping out, even if he wants to.

This is for his future, the one he wants and not the one his parents preached. His freedom. He can't afford to mess about now.

The class is fairly empty when he arrives, and it doesn't get much fuller as the start of class approaches – there's only about twelve people total in the class. Haruka hasn't talked to anyone, but he doesn't really have to. Between Ken, his work, and the occasional casual fling that Ken introduces him to, Haruka doesn't find much need for social interaction. Another thing he is lectured for often – humans are social creatures and need friends, according to absolutely everyone.

Haruka frowns slightly. While he does admit that he's only here thanks to Ken, doing what he actually wants to do with his life instead of being under his parent's thumb, it still doesn't change the fact that he doesn't desire human interaction all that much. Nothing the others his age do has ever appealed to Haruka in any way, and that is unchanged. The frivolous socializing, the parties, the nightlife, none of it is something Haruka is all that interested in. He still pursues casual sexual encounters, but that is to fulfill a biological need and, admittedly, he is still a little bit addicted to the feeling of release that he only gets during sex. He sees no need to actually get to know and form a bond with his partners – it feels too much like walking back into chains. Dating means that he will have to satisfy someone other than himself.

He doesn't want to deal with any more expectations on him except for his own. Now that he has it, he is going to protect his freedom fiercely.

The professor arrives, and class starts without much fanfare. Haruka barely pays any attention, instead spending most of the class doodling. The professor always sums up what they need to know at the end anyways, and as long as Haruka keeps up with the reading he has no problems on tests or papers. Today is no different.

Except, suddenly, it is.

“...All right, now that I have explained the rules, split up into pairs.” The words filter into Haruka's brain, and he looks up automatically in surprise. Pairs? Rules? What?

The rest of the students seem to have paid attention, and offer no clues as they shuffle into groups, pairing off with ease, and Haruka feels a slight panic start to rise. What are they pairing off for? Does he have to have a partner? Socialization isn't his strong point at all. He doesn't even know the names and faces of his classmates, how could he be expected to approach someone he doesn't know?

“Um...” A voice interrupts the beginnings of Haruka's mild panic attack, and he looks up. And up. Oh he's tall. And it appears Haruka's going to be spared from having to actually initiate socialization, because for the first time since Ken someone is approaching Haruka for a reason unrelated to sex. “Would you like to be partners?”

The guy smiles, a mix of bashful, hopeful, and perhaps a bit worried all at once. The smile is the first thing Haruka notices, because it's really quite nice. It seems a lot more sincere than others Haruka sees, and that's rare. Combined with his handsome face, light tan, stylishly-messy brown hair and green eyes the color Haruka likes to use for sea grass in his paintings, and Haruka feels that this guy is probably the sweetheart of his classes. It also helps that he's very tall, and, from what Haruka can tell, very well-toned. Ken would probably beg to sculpt him like a god if he ever met him.

The stranger shuffles, hugging his books tighter to his chest, and Haruka belatedly realizes that he was asked a question, and he should probably answer it instead of blatantly raking his eyes over the guy. Well, Haruka had never been a shining example of social graces, had he?

He looks back up at that handsome face and those green eyes, and he blinks slowly as he considers what he was actually asked. Partners? Well, he does apparently need one. And, judging by the sounds around them, everyone else is paired off. He just can't refuse to do a pair activity, after all. And besides, this takes off the pressure of being left out or finding his own partner.

He nods, a bit stiffly, and the guy relaxes, the worry vanishing as that smile becomes brighter. He pulls out the chair next to Haruka, and Haruka takes a moment to appreciate the way his lanky frame folds into the seat. Well, if he is to have a partner, there is no problem with eating the eye candy, is there? And boy is he eye candy.

“That's great! Um, you're...Nanase, right? I'm Tachibana Makoto, it's nice to meet you!” The beaming smile he gets as the guy – Tachibana – introduces himself should probably be illegal in several prefectures.

“...Nanase Haruka. Nice to meet you,” he answers distractedly, because Tachibana's name sends several feelings reeling through Haruka. One is the odd niggling feeling that he should know the guy, when he's never seen him before. There's also some sort of accent lilting in his words, a sign that he's not from Tokyo, and that combined with the strange deja vu makes Haruka feel as if something incredibly obvious is staring him in the face but he is too blind to see it.

Perhaps he feels like that because the other feeling is recognition on a different level – he's heard of Tachibana.

Or, rather, he's heard the guys in the art department mutter angrily to themselves about the guy, because Tachibana is apparently the school's biggest heartbreaker.

Seeing him in person, Haruka can begin to guess why. He supposes that if he were the type to pursue romance, he too would get insecure around someone as handsome as the young man sitting next to Haruka now. Hell, just now Haruka himself had been a bit dazzled by his sweetheart smile, so Haruka can understand.

Also, if rumors are to be believed, the guy is a serial first dater. He's gone through practically the entire freshman female population according to hearsay. It's not as bad as it could be – apparently all the dates are very chaste because he acts the perfect gentleman, with no inappropriate touching or kissing even, although the jealous guys sometimes nastily speculate that he's banged them all first date and dumps them when he's through and his victims are just too besotted to tell on him – but all the girls are infatuated with him and all the guys are annoyed with him because of that, and that rumor and jealousy has spread to even the “heads always in the clouds” art department.

Yes, Haruka has heard of Tachibana.

And now the guy's his partner for...something.

Speaking of that, Haruka should really figure out what this whole partner thing is for.

Haruka turns abruptly back to face Tachibana, and has to blink when the guy startles a bit like a nervous cat. The meek surprise doesn't seem to mesh with his size, it's an odd overlap. Whatever, Haruka pushes that thought aside, no time to get distracted. Serial heartbreaker or not, it means nothing to Haruka. This guy is just his new project partner, and Haruka needs to find out what that project actually is. “What is this for?”

“Eh?” Green eyes go wide. “Um...the pairs...? We supposed to be in pairs for the semester project the professor just told us about...did you, um, not want to...?”

Haruka blinks, because how did he get the idea that Haruka didn't want to be his partner out of that? He really doesn't understand this guy. “No. You're fine. I meant the project.”

“Um...” Tachibana blinks, before understanding seems to dawn. “Ah, Nanase-kun, were you...not listening...?” His voice trails off in hesitation, as if he's worried he's going to offend Haruka somehow. That is more annoying than the actual question – because let's face it, it's the honest truth that Haruka hadn't been – so he frowns and turns his head to the side, not wanting to deal with explaining himself.

Tachibana surprisingly doesn't push it, instead just laughing in slight embarrassment, and Haruka can see his hand reach up to rub the back of his neck out of the corner of his eye. “Well, we're starting the section about children's literature, and our project is to collaborate and write our own kid's book. The best one will get published as a sort of kickstarter for a career. It would be really nice to have that step up, I think, so...let's work hard...?”

Tachibana smiles at Haruka as his question floats in the air, smile equal parts nervous and hopeful. To be honest Haruka couldn't give less of a damn about writing books and being published – he's an artist, not a writer – but it really feels like some sort of crime to dash the hope off that face. Nice people are always so hard for Haruka to deal with.

He huffs out a sigh, before turning to face Tachibana better. “I can illustrate if you write. I'm not a writer.”

Blunt as it is, his reply seems to make Tachibana happy, as the smile gets wider. “Oh, no, that's fine! I'm good with writing, so I don't mind. In fact, I can't even draw straight lines for stick figures, so I was a little worried...it made me really happy you accepted me as your partner! I've seen your drawings, they're really good!”

That surprises Haruka, enough that the next words out of his mouth are unintentional. “You've seen my drawings?”

“Ah...” There is that sheepish smile again as Tachibana scratches at his cheek slightly, a tint of red on his face. “Well, I sit behind you, and you draw a lot in class, so um...I kind of watch you sometimes. I'm sorry if that disturbs you, you're just really good and I liked watching you create something so beautiful.”

Haruka can't help but stare at the guy. Is he aware of the words coming out of his mouth? Haruka is beginning to understand where the rumors are coming from – unintentional or not, this guy is a dangerous flirt. Haruka can feel the tips of his ears going red, a foreign sensation since he hasn't blushed in years, and he's sucked off complete strangers in love hotels and movie theaters!

Turning his head to hopefully hide his blush, Haruka stares at his sketchbook, silently blaming it for his troubles right now.

“...It's fine,” he mutters, unconsciously clenching his hand around the mechanical pencil in his hand. If this is a semester project and Tachibana acts like this the entire time, Haruka is going to be screwed. And not literally, because Tachibana is probably as straight as an arrow and being flattered by his words is useless.

Though, admittedly, Haruka would climb the guy like a tree if given half a chance, but that is neither here nor there and it is probably a bad idea to screw your project partner.

“Um, sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, but I really do mean it. You're very talented.” Tachibana is smiling that heartbreaking smile again, and Haruka dreads the next few weeks. “We'll have to meet up outside of class to complete this, can I have your number?”

Haruka blinks, brought out of his thoughts. Number...? Oh. That.

Haruka eyes his bag for a minute, before starting to dig through it. Did he even bring his cell phone? What _is_ his cell phone number, anyways? Haruka mostly uses it as a paperweight, honestly – the only calls he gets are work-related, since Ken just barges in whenever he wants rather than call. Haruka doesn't even know if he's saved any phone numbers into the memory or not.

Miracle of miracles, his cell phone is actually with him and charged for once. Probably Ken's doing when he visited over the weekend. It also turns out that he does have contacts in his phone – only Ken and work, and again probably programmed in by Ken himself, since Haruka clearly doesn't remember doing it himself.

“Oh, we have the same model!” Tachibana smiles brightly when Haruka produces his phone, holding up his own – which, indeed, is the same sliding model as Haruka's, only in a lively lime green compared to Haruka's aqua blue. It's a coincidence, that's for sure.

Tachibana starts pressing buttons rapidly on the keyboard. “I'll send you my number really quick, okay?”

Haruka frowns a little, not really understanding. “How can you send me anything when you don't know my address or number?”

The other pauses, eyes widening. “Eh...? What do you mean? You don't need that for infrared.”

Haruka stares blankly. What the fuck is infrared?

Tachibana stares back at him for a moment, before he gasps a little. “Oh! Um...do you not know how to use it?”

_Obviously_. Haruka doesn't even know what that _is_.

“Um...can I see your phone?” Tachibana holds out his hand with a sheepish smile, and Haruka puts the blue object into his hand. “Infrared is where we use wireless signals to transfer data over short distances. We can exchange our numbers and mail addresses in one go with it, it's easier than getting a number and calling. Faster, too. Of course a lot of people forget where the option is, too, so a lot of people still call. See, here it is!”

Angling the phone so Haruka can see, Tachibana deftly navigates the menu of Haruka's phone – his phone has an _options menu_? – bringing up various screens. It's all a little too fast for Haruka, and he doesn't understand one bit about wireless or infrared or whatever, but he doubts he's ever going to use the feature again.

Tachibana taps a button with his finger, then holds up their phones, close together with the backs facing each other. After a moment, both phones give identical chimes and Tachibana grins brightly. “There we go! Now we're in each other's contacts! Easy, isn't it?”

Haruka silently nods his head to pretend that he has any idea what the other guy just did. Technology might as well be witchcraft to Haruka for all the sense it makes to him sometimes.

Tachibana holds Haruka's phone out with the smile still on his face, and Haruka takes it back. Sure enough, on his screen is a little message saying something about the transfer being successful, and it takes him to his contacts menu, where a new name now shows under Idetica and Ken – Tachibana Makoto. The spelling is awfully girly, and Haruka spares a brief moment to wonder if his parents had been expecting a girl and hadn't bothered to change the characters to something less feminine. Well, Haruka certainly doesn't have any room to talk there. But there are now three contacts on Haruka's phone – the first new number in a long while.

“Feel free to call or text me anytime if you need anything, I don't mind. Um, for the project, why don't we meet up somewhere on Friday? I don't have any classes then, do you?”

He doesn't have any, although he does have work at five, but that is plenty of time. “Lunch is fine.”

“Lunch...? Ah, okay. Why don't we meet at the cafe on campus, then? We can eat and talk at the same time, does that sound okay?” Tachibana gives him that one look again, that “is that really all right with you” sort of smile that he's worn for every question addressed at Haruka, and Haruka wonders if he really comes off as that disagreeable or if Tachibana is just really that eager to please anyone. Haruka just nods. He meant what he said – lunch was just fine. It's been a long time since he's eaten out, anyways.

“Great! Then at noon on Friday, then! I'll be waiting!” There's that smile again, it really should be illegal for what it's doing to Haruka's hormones. Stupid sexy project partners.

The bell rings then, causing Tachibana to jump like a startled rabbit again, and Haruka lets out a breath he hadn't been aware of holding when the other smiles, picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder and telling Haruka that he'd see him in class Thursday. Haruka manages a curt nod in goodbye, before puffing out his breath and slowly repacking his bag.

This is going to be a long semester.


	3. Chapter 3

The greatest freedom Haruka attained from leaving his parents is, in his opinion, swimming pools.

He had been on the school swim team in middle school, but his parents had insisted he pull out for high school and had signed him up for cram school instead. Since they had also stopped going to Iwatobi, he had lost the ocean as well. The bath had been his only place to feel water against his skin, but it had been a pale imitation of what he really wanted – cool, clear water, the tang of chlorine, and the rush of bubbles against his skin as he dived into the water.

However, now that he's free, all he has to do is march into the gym building on campus and flash his student ID, and he can swim whenever he wants. Well, except when the swim team is practicing, but Haruka's okay with that. If he ever needs to swim more, he just has to submit an application to the team and try out, and then the only restrictions to his daily water indulgence would be classes and the pool closing for the night. Aside from schoolwork and bodily needs, Haruka spends the majority of his time in the cool waters of the campus pool.

Now, he's floating in the clear water, eyes closed and mind drifting as he lets the water carry his stress away. Once his mind is clear of worries, he can concentrate on more important things to think about.

Such as the mystery of one Tachibana Makoto.

The guy has gotten steadily more confusing over the past week or so. Tuesday night, he had sent Haruka a text saying that it had been nice to meet him and that he hoped they could work together well and to have a good night. Haruka, bemused, had stared at the text for half an hour before just sending back a terse “You too”, unsure of what else to say. On Wednesday, passing each other in the hall, Tachibana had smiled at him and waved. On Thursday, instead of his normal seat, he had sat beside Haruka again, greeting him with a soft shy smile and a “good morning”. Haruka had only been able to nod silently back, and the rest of class was spent with Tachibana scribbling notes by his side. Sure, the guy was his project partner, but that didn't mean he had to force himself to socialize with Haruka – he knew it had to be a trying task. It would have been just as good to only meet on agreed times to work on the project and ignore each other otherwise. But there he was, smiling at Haruka when he saw him and sending random texts every once in a while, starting with the first one and ending with a picture of a kitten on some stairs.

Tachibana was weird.

Then Friday had come, and so had their arranged meeting. It ended up being less about their project and more general small talk. Or, well, Tachibana made small talk and Haruka listened and responded when he felt the need to. It wasn't uncomfortable – although he seemed a little hesitant with Haruka, Tachibana seemed to have a knack for keeping the conversation going with little input from Haruka and he responded well to Haruka's silences or short answers – but it was weird. Surely Tachibana had better company to spend his time with, such as those girls he apparently serial dated? Haruka couldn't be entertaining company if he tried – there had to be a better way for Tachibana to spend his time.

But instead he sat with Haruka in the cafe for almost two hours, chatting about whatever, wasting his time. It confused Haruka.

Also confusing was a glimpse of something deeper to Tachibana, something that was pricking at Haruka's curiosity.

He'd asked what Haruka did to spend the time, and Haruka had responded honestly – that he spent most of it swimming in the pool. As soon as the words left his mouth, Tachibana reacted. It was subtle, but there – those green eyes widened, hands curled tighter around his drink, and Haruka was given the knowledge that Tachibana had very faint freckles because they were now standing out a little bit better because it looked like he'd gone a bit pale.

Then Tachibana had smiled and the reaction was gone in a flash as he cheerfully asked if Haruka was on the swim team.

That little glimpse of some emotion other than “perpetual sunshine” intrigued Haruka more than it should. It looked like fear, but what did a guy like Tachibana have to be afraid of? He was built like a tree and had three-fourths of the school wrapped around his little finger – even the ones who grumbled under their breath and spread the rumors of his dates around never dared to attack him directly. Haruka obviously wasn't the only one who found themselves robbed of the ability to say anything negative to Tachibana's face.

Also, Haruka couldn't imagine anyone being scared of a pool. The pool was wonderful. It was his second home, he'd sleep in it if he could. The idea that anyone could look at water and not see anything but beauty was alien to him.

So, why did Tachibana look scared?

It eats at him over the weekend – Tachibana sends him a ridiculous picture of some owl cafe on Sunday and Haruka wonders what the point of that was – up until Tuesday and his Creative Writing class rolls around again. He has an idea.

On Friday they'd agreed to brainstorm ideas for their book over the weekend, the only real project planning they'd done. Haruka hadn't given it any thought at all, deciding that whatever Tachibana wanted to write was fine, but he wakes up on Tuesday morning with a clear idea in mind.

If it goes well, he will learn why Tachibana is scared of pools and hopefully his curiosity will go to sleep so he'll stop thinking about the guy.

So on Tuesday, before class starts, Haruka sits and waits in the room patiently. Tachibana usually arrives about five minutes early, so they will have time to talk a little about their project, which is what Haruka is counting on.

Sure enough, Tachibana walks in at exactly five minutes before. He walks over to Haruka, that ever-present smile brightening on his face as he sits down. “Good morning, Nanase-kun.”

Haruka gives a nod in return, before deciding to get down to business. He turns and stares at Tachibana directly as he launches his plan without preamble. “I want to do a book about the ocean.”

As soon as the word “ocean” leaves Haruka's mouth Tachibana goes white as a sheet. It's a more severe reaction that just the pool, and he can practically hear the spine of the book Tachibana's holding in his hands creak, so tight is his grip on it.

He hadn't expected that much of a reaction. Haruka feels a little bad, and he looks away, trying to find the words to apologize and say that Tachibana can just ignore what he just said. Expect Tachibana, who is apparently some sort of glutton for punishment, forces a smile onto his face. If Haruka hadn't been watching closely, or had experience with Tachibana's real smiles, he would have thought nothing was wrong as Tachibana smiles and says “Sure, that sounds fun, Nanase-kun! You're always drawing dolphins and fish, so you probably like the ocean a lot, huh?”

Haruka can't tell him to forget it now – it'd be obvious that he'd been fishing for a reaction, and clearly Tachibana wants to keep whatever this is hidden. So he just stiffly nods, and Tachibana gives a watery smile, and then class starts. Haruka tries to pretend he doesn't notice Tachibana's hand shaking slightly, making his notes even more messy than normal.

_Well, it looks like we're doing a book about the ocean now,_ Haruka thinks, and feels like an ass.

He feels like even more of an ass when a small part of him is excited to get a chance to quench his curiosity and solve the mystery of his strange project partner.

Tachibana packs up quickly after class ends, giving a smile to Haruka that looks more plastic than a mannequin and he's out of the door faster than normal.

Haruka really shouldn't be around people.

The guilt drives him to the pool, where he submerges himself in the cold comfort of water as long as he can. It's not enough, the itching need to be free from guilt and emotions gnaws at him again, and when the guards force him out at eleven he goes back to his room only for a quick shower and a change of clothes and he leaves again.

It's a simple matter to hop the train to Shinjuku, find an attractive stranger, fall into his bed. It's easy to close his eyes and wipe Tachibana from his mind for a night, thinking only about the pleasure he's receiving.

He tries to ignore the fact that the stranger he lured in has green eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

He'd wandered back onto campus some time after ten in the morning, feeling satiated but numb, and he had decided that class just wasn't happening today, so he'd gone to his dorm to sleep for another hour, and then he moved to the studios to bury himself in paint.

He paints the ocean. Blue, green, grey, he throws countless colors onto his canvases to try to capture the seascape in his mind, but it never transfers properly. He knows what he's always trying to paint, but he hasn't been to Iwatobi in years. His memories of the little seaside town on the bay are fuzzy, and pictures don't capture the feel of the ocean that he needs. The tang of salt, the warmth of the sun sparkling on the water, the calm radiating from every brick and beam.

Frustrated, he puts those canvases away, covering them with a sheet so he doesn't have to look at his failures. He paints a deep sea scene instead, covering a canvas in Prussian blue and glimmers of bioluminescence. He paints until the sky outside matches his painting.

The buzzing of his phone is a surprise.

It's a text from Tachibana, even more of a surprise. There's no odd picture this time, just straight and to the point – ' _I've thought of a story. Can we meet up?_ '

Haruka stares at the text. He just doesn't understand. If Tachibana doesn't like the ocean, he shouldn't have to write about it. But here he is, catering to Haruka's selfish curiosity, putting serious thought into something that Haruka's been ignoring.

Tachibana confuses Haruka a lot.

It takes him a while to formulate a reply. He doesn't know what to say, but if he's honest he wants to see what this story is. What will Tachibana write, when he's so afraid? Haruka tries typing out a few meeting places, but none of them seem to work – the pool is too wet and would force Tachibana into even more discomfort for Haruka's pleasure, the school cafe is closed, and Haruka's dorm room is private, and, honestly, he doesn't trust himself to not do something if he sees Tachibana sitting on his bed. Even just imagining it sends an completely-inappropriate warmth sparking in his belly. No, bad Haruka, do not lust after the attractive classmate who is most likely straight and who is already uncomfortable thanks to Haruka's thoughtlessness.

After a few minutes of glaring at the screen, he finally types out the address to his work and hits send.

Packing up his supplies and making the trip to Idetica doesn't take long. He arrives before Tachibana, at least, and he nods to the owner when he slips inside, heading for the second table from the back in the corner of the store with the best view. He sits down and waits, trying to ignore the curious looks of the owner and one of his fellow employees, a blond kid by the name of Hazuki. Haruka never comes to the shop for reasons other than work, after all.

After five minutes of sliding his phone open and closed, debating with himself whether or not to text Tachibana, the bells on the door jingle and there Tachibana is, bright green eyes scanning over the interior of the shop before they alight on Haruka. Haruka tries to ignore the fact that they seem to brighten when Tachibana sees him – it's just satisfaction at finding the person he's meeting with, not because he's happy to see Haruka, specifically.

Tachibana walks over to Haruka's table with easy strides, smiling as he slides into the booth opposite of him. “I'm sorry, did I keep you waiting long?”

“No,” Haruka replies shortly. He considers saying that he only just got here, but decides against it, and settles for “It's only been five minutes.”

“Ah, well I'll try to leave five minutes earlier next time, then.” Tachibana laughs slightly, and Haruka looks away out the window before he blushes stupidly again. Stupid attractive partners. Huffing under his breath, he forces himself to look back at his project partner. “You said you had an idea?”

“Ah...” Tachibana pauses, biting his lip as he hesitates, before nodding shyly, reaching into his bag to pull out a notebook. “I do. I wrote it down in here...you might think it's silly, though, I'm sorry. But it was the only thing I could think and I liked it the more I wrote about it, so...”

Opening the notebook to a certain page, Tachibana slides it across the table for Haruka to see. Haruka picks it up, glancing over the pages filled with Tachibana's chicken-scratch writing. For someone so interested in writing, his characters are terrible.

They fall into silence as Haruka reads, slowly flipping through what seems like five pages of story snippets and plot outlines. It has a lot of planning for something so simple as a children's book, and Haruka wonders just how bad Tachibana's self esteem must be if he considers the story Haruka's reading as “silly”.

It's about an orca who's scared of the ocean he lives in. His friends and family don't understand – he's so big and strong, and the ocean is where they live, how could he be afraid of it? The orca doesn't understand either, but he's convinced that there's something terrible hiding in the dark depths of the water, so he stays in a little sheltered cove, never leaving, and his tears make the water deeper.

It's actually kind of depressing, especially since that seems to be the entirety of the plot. Haruka's mouth pulls into a frown. Aren't children's books supposed to be happy? Or at least teach a positive lesson? If any kid reads this they'll be terrified of the ocean for the rest of their days.

Although maybe Tachibana hadn't exactly written this with children in mind. The image of his face when Haruka told he wanted to do an ocean story flashes into his mind. Perhaps it's a confession, or a sort of therapy. Perhaps both.

Haruka looks up at Tachibana through his eyelashes, trying to watch him discreetly. The taller male is obviously nervous, staring at his hands and repeatedly lacing and unlacing those long fingers, and Haruka feels a twinge of guilt again. He really shouldn't have let his curiosity force Tachibana into this, even though he seems to have taken the opportunity to let some of that fear out onto paper, as some form of release.

Haruka purses his lips slightly. If it's his fault, he needs to fix it. He doesn't know how to make it up to Tachibana himself, but he can start with the poor terrified orca. “He needs a friend.”

“Eh?” Those green eyes snap up to look at Haruka. “Who?”

“The orca.” Haruka puts the notebook and down and grabs one of his own pencils, starting to scribble out rapid sketches on the page margins. The familiar shape of dorsal fins and smiling faces starts coming alive under Haruka's pencil. “He needs a friend. A dolphin. Who comes and shows him how beautiful the ocean is.”

“Oh...” Tachibana watches him sketch for a moment. “That sounds nice, it wasn't a happy story to start with, which is bad for a children's book, huh? So, a dolphin comes into the cove with his pod...?”

“Alone. He swims free.” Haruka insists, filling out the pectorals of his dolphin. “Pods are too restricting.”

Families aren't free.

“Um...all right, so the dolphin is alone. And he shows the orca how beautiful the ocean is? How?”

Haruka pauses, brow furrowing. How? What does Tachibana mean? “By swimming with him.”

“But the orca is scared...he doesn't want to leave his cove to swim. How can the dolphin show him the beauty of the ocean? How can the dolphin convince the orca to swim with him in the first place? And even if he does, the orca is still scared – how does swimming together help?”

He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't understand _not_ wanting to swim. Once someone touches the water, they should _know_ what Haruka means. Doesn't everyone feel the water when they get in? Doesn't it feel the same to everyone? Haruka is having trouble processing this because he can't quite comprehend not wanting to swim when the feel of water is all around him. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to find the words to use with his feeble vocal skills to express himself. “He...he should feel the water. And stop thinking about it. And...”

Tachibana gives an apologetic smile. “I'm sorry, I don't quite understand. The orca is already feeling the water, isn't he? He's lived in it all his life, so he feels the water. It's what's in the water that's scary.”

Haruka looks down at the paper, feeling his mouth pull into a scowl out of frustration. He doesn't know the words to get the feeling of the water across, and he doesn't understand how anyone who feels it could still be scared. The rush of bubbles against skin, the feel of cutting through the water to go faster, the moment when the water accepts you and you slide through it, parting the water instead of fighting it...Haruka doesn't know how to put those feelings into words. He doesn't know how to imagine still feeling scared after experiencing that euphoria.

A soft laugh drifts from across the trouble. “Well, we can iron out the details later. I'm sure I can come up with a way. Anyways, I'm going to go order some coffee, do you want something?”

“Water,” Haruka replies shortly, still staring at the scribbled words on the page as Tachibana gets up to walk to the counter, as if the words that will destroy any and all fear of the water will magically pop into his head the harder he looks.

What are the words that will make Tachibana understand?

He stays that way as Tachibana comes back, only looking up when a glass of ice water is plunked in front of him. Tachibana smiles at him, and Haruka looks off to the side, muttering his thanks.

“It's no problem. Speaking of, you must come here a lot, Nanase-kun. The owner insisted on giving me my coffee on the house since I was your friend. How long have you been coming here? It's a nice place.”

Haruka's head whirls towards the counter at that, and the owner just wiggles his fingers at Haruka and smirks. Haruka scowls slightly, and immediately regrets his decision to use Idetica as their meeting place. He should have picked a place where no one knew him.

He moves his scowl to his fingers. He's already dreading his next shift and the rumors and teasing ahead, because he knows the owner must have gotten the wrong idea about Tachibana. Shit. He lets out a breath before replying, short and terse. “I work here.”

“You...work here?” Tachibana blinks in surprise. Haruka nods shortly in confirmation. Tachibana blinks rapidly again, before breaking out into a smile. “Oh! That's really cool, I didn't know that. I work at the campus bookstore. Not nearly anything so glamorous as a coffee shop. Do you like working here?”

“It's a job.” Haruka picks up his water and takes a long gulp, before setting it down and watching the cafe lights play on the surface. “I got it because my old roommate knew the owner. Worked here ever since.”

“I see, that's nice. I don't know anyone here, so I had to find a job on my own. It was kind of scary.” Tachibana does his quiet little laugh again as he stirs what must be half the table's sugar packets into his coffee. Haruka eyes it warily – can that be considered coffee anymore? Tachibana seems to like it at least, as his smile widens slightly when he takes a sip of the warm drink. “You're lucky to get a job like that. Do you want to have your own cafe in the future?”

Haruka shakes his head slightly. Too troublesome, he can't imagine being in charge of customers, and inventory, and hiring employees. In fact, it sounds a little like Haruka's idea of hell. “I paint.”

“Paint? Oh, you want to become a painter?”

“I don't know. Painting is just what I do.” Haruka gives his glass a little swirl to make the water ripple. If he's honest with himself, he isn't quite sure what he wants to do, for all his determination to make his own future. He likes art and painting, but Ken's lifestyle didn't leave the greatest impression on Haruka. He's not sure that he wants that kind of insecurity. But he's not sure what else he could do – the very idea of an office job is too close to his parent's ideals and imagining himself sitting at the same desk day after day grinding down on dull paperwork or similar makes him itch for the freedom of water to cleanse the thought. For now, he's just pursuing his art classes. There's always selling a few paintings to fund further classes when he's sure of what he wants to do, after all. And he's nowhere near done with college yet, he has at least two more years to decide.

“I see...” Tachibana looks down at his coffee for a moment, before looking back up at Haruka with a smile that looks shy for some reason. “Could I maybe see your paintings one day? Your drawings are wonderful, so I'm sure your paintings are extra beautiful.”

Haruka is definitely blushing at that one, damn Tachibana and his unconscious flirting. He jerks his head at the wall behind him to draw attention away from his reddening ears, trying not to sound too affected. “Then look. I did that one.”

Tachibana's eyes go to the painting on the wall, widening in surprise. Haruka did that one the year he was living with Ken, a little before he'd started working for this place. In fact, it was one of the factors in getting Haruka hired here – the owner had come over to visit one day and had seen that painting sitting on Haruka's easel, and had wanted to meet the artist behind it. Several conversations about their financial situation later, Haruka was standing behind the counter and the painting hanging on the wall.

It's not one of his better paintings – in fact it's rather bland, in Haruka's opinion. A painting of a path overlooking the ocean, houses and businesses lining the shore, everything cast in a grey overtone. Just another of Haruka's many failures to capture Iwatobi on canvas.

But the owner had liked it, and now Tachibana is staring at it with wide eyes, like it's some sort of important treasure. “That's...Nanase-kun, you really painted that? It's amazing!”

Haruka pretends to be busy with his pencil so he doesn't have to look up and reveal that he's still blushing. “It's nothing special. It's old and plain. Why I gave it away. I'm better now.”

“Really!? That's so good, I can't imagine it being any better...can I see something new, then, sometime? You're really talented, I'd like to see more of your work!”

Tachibana is staring at him, eyes glimmering like jewels in his excitement, and Haruka feels weirdly warm and out of breath. He's not used to such open admiration – the only ones who see his paintings are his teachers and fellow artists, and criticism is the name of the game between artists. If faults are not pointed out then they can't be fixed, and so Haruka is used to people picking out flaws when he shows his work, not this...open-faced admiration. It's hard to deal with.

He looks away again, and he knows his ears are bright red because the owner is smirking again and he can see Hazuki roll his eyes. “....Later. I'll show you them later.”

Tachibana's smile when he deciphers Haruka's embarrassed mumbling is so blinding, Haruka feels like it's imprinted onto his eyeballs like an afterimage and it's all he can think about for the rest of the day.


	5. Chapter 5

He deeply regrets ever meeting up with Tachibana – or at least thoughtlessly bringing him to a place where people knew Haruka's face – when he goes into work the next evening and the owner's eyes immediately zero in on him.

Haruka wonders if he can pretend to be deaf and blind for the rest of his shift.

His hopes are dashed when the owner saunters over while Haruka's tying off his apron. “So when should I be expecting a wedding invitation?”

Haruka decides ignorance is the better part of valor. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

This causes the owner to laugh at him, and Haruka frowns.

The owner, Yoshida Takehito, is best described as “whimsical”. He'd apparently been Ken's philosophy teacher in college, before quitting at the age of thirty-seven on a whim to open up this cafe. Surprisingly it had done well, and so now, seven years later, it's still going strong.

Ken had made friends with his eccentric professor in college, and was one of the starting employees in the shop. They'd been good friends ever since, as evidenced by Yoshida dropping in about once a month to visit Ken, and Ken going to the cafe at least once a week for a coffee and a chat in the evening.

Overall, Yoshida was a nice guy. Altruistic enough to tolerate a moody stone-faced seventeen-year-old as an employee, whimsical enough to quit a solid teaching job just because he wanted to be a cafe owner like a role model in a manga, and a strong sarcastic side that came out in half-smirks and well-timed quips. If it wasn't for one certain personality trait, Haruka would possibly have looked up to him even more.

Unfortunately, that personality quirk was that he was _incredibly_ nosy. And Haruka _hated_ it.

“So, who was that young man? I don't think you've ever brought a date here, Haruka-kun. In fact, I thought you didn't date at all. Can't blame you for wanting to show him off, though, it's been some time since I've seen such a handsome fellow.”

“I still don't date,” Haruka replies with his usual monotone. If he looks supremely unaffected and very interested in grinding today's roast, maybe he'll be left alone. “That's my project partner for class.”

“Project partner, hmmn?” Yoshida obviously doesn't believe a word of it. “Is that what they're calling it nowadays?”

“You're thinking of sex friends, old man. Stop pretending to be behind the times, you know more trends than I do.” Haruka transfers the fresh grounds into the machine, flipping the switches to set it up for brewing. Work, he is _working_ , and completely unaffected by the thought of Tachibana as a sex friend. “A project partner is a classmate that I have to write a kid's book with. Which was what we were discussing. Stop trying to turn my life into a TV drama.”

“Oh, but it's so tempting! The gay young man forced to run away from home due to his sexuality, seeking freedom in his artwork, meets a handsome stranger who is assigned as his project partner and love blossoms through their creative process! Wouldn't you watch it? I think it'd make an excellent addition to the one-o-clock lineup.” The owner's hand is on his chin, smirking mercilessly as he abducts Haruka's life for his imaginary soap opera.

Haruka sighs low and deep under his breath, before fixing Yoshida with the flattest look he can conjure – the “implacable lizard gaze” Ken once dubbed it. “I'm _working._ ”

“Yes, yes, I'll get out of your way, since I know you're so _dedicated_ to your job.” The smirk on Yoshida's face says that he knows how unmotivated Haruka can be when it comes to customer service, but he does move past Haruka, heading for the specialty coffee bar, leaving Haruka to do his job in peace.

Not before he gets a last jab in, though. “Tachibana Haruka has a very ring to it, write that on the invitations.”

Haruka hopes that the force of his glare will cause the coffee machine to spontaneously combust and he could be sent home on emergency leave. Where the fuck had he learned Tachibana's name, anyways?

He is _not_ dating Tachibana. He is not _going_ to date Tachibana. Yes he definitely wouldn't mind riding him into the sunset, but Haruka is not going to act on that because Tachibana's obviously straight and Haruka doesn't _date_. The very thought of being forced to conform to someone else's ideals and having to put his own freedoms on hold to please them makes Haruka want to run and not stop until he's swimming in the ocean. Or just swimming somewhere in general. He's fought so hard to be free, he's not going to give up that freedom just because of a pair of droopy green eyes and a sweet smile.

No matter how warm they make him feel.

Haruka attempts to shove the memory of Tachibana's face out of his mind and concentrate on work, but then he gets caught in the other half of the pincer trap of work gossip – Hazuki. Shit. He'd forgotten that they shared shifts today.

The petite blond saunters up to Haruka, smirk in place and pink eyes glimmering. Hazuki is going to be a different problem, because while he's more inclined to shut up about things, he's also a thousand times more direct and crude than the owner could ever be.

“So, got laid last night, Nanase-kun?” Like now.

Maybe if he'd had this wouldn't be so irritating. Haruka keeps his focus firmly on the coffee machine. “No.”

“Uh-oh, that's no good. What did you do to blow it? He seemed pretty into you while I was watching. Did you strip and jump into a fountain again? That's usually a good date stopper, you know, people find it weird.”

Haruka scowled. That was only the _once._ He'd just really needed to feel the water right then, and if they didn't want people getting into fountains then they wouldn't leave them open and waiting, would they? “Nothing went wrong. It wasn't a date. He's my project partner.”

“'Project partner', right.” One blond eyebrow arched sardonically, and Haruka doesn't get what's so hard to understand about it. Is everyone but Haruka incapable of working with an attractive partner without needing to jump them? Just because he does find Tachibana very attractive doesn't mean he's going to do anything.

“Yes, project partner. And straight,” he tacks on, hoping that will deter more rumors. He doesn't want to discuss this anymore.

“Sure he's straight, if by straight you mean looking straight at you the entire time with hearts in his eyes.” Hazuki snorts, shaking his head. “Geez, why is luck wasted on you? There's always at least five guys after your ass and I can't get one girlfriend.”

“Not my fault.” Haruka moves to the milk frother to clean it, hoping to signal that the conversation is over.

It doesn't stop the conversation, but it does, thankfully, move it onto Hazuki's own love life – or whining about the dismal lack thereof. “It's just not fair. You don't even have to bat your eyes or anything, you just stare at guys with your blank lizard face as if they're particularly uninteresting rocks and they fawn all over you, and the most action I've gotten is a girl a year younger patting my head and calling me a cute kid.” Hazuki pauses in his bemoaning in stare down at himself and sigh exaggeratedly. “Did you know all three of my sisters are taller than me? _All_ of them. It's disgusting.”

Haruka just shrugs. Not his problem.

“And then they have the nerve to complain when I look better in a dress than they do, even though they're the ones that forced me into one in the first place. It's not like I _wanted_ to be cuter than you! I'd rather be ugly all around than look cute in a dress. But no, gotta pin me down and put makeup on me, and cry when you drag me outside in a dress and the guys hit on me instead of you, and switch my swim shorts for girly bikinis...”

Haruka's attention is instantly diverted. “You swim?”

Hazuki pauses in his tirade, looking at Haruka in slight surprise. It's probably the first time Haruka's shown the slightest personal interest in something he was talking about. After a second, he rolls his shoulders and looks away. “...Used to. Quit back in elementary school.”

Haruka looks back down at the machine he's cleaning and awkward silence falls over them. There had been a sort of flatness to Hazuki's tone – obviously he didn't care to talk about the experience. Haruka is a little disappointed, since he doesn't have anyone to share swimming with, but he doesn't feel quite the same need to discover why as he does with Tachibana.

Haruka wonders why he seems surrounded by people with swimming issues.

“Do you swim, Nanase-kun?”

At the unexpected question, Haruka looks up. He'd thought the conversation dropped, but Hazuki is watching him with curious pink eyes. After a moment, Haruka nods slightly. “...I do. Not on a team though.”

“I see. Yeah, that makes sense.” Hazuki nods to himself a bit, before a strange smile stretches his lips. It looks like his normal sardonic one, but a little different. A little more real, a little more wistful. “You're a really lucky guy, Nanase-kun.”

With that, Hazuki flips a towel over his shoulder as he saunters back into the food preparation area, as if the whole conversation didn't happen, and Haruka is left to stare at the doorway in confusion, eyebrows pulling together.

Shaking his head slightly, Haruka goes back to his job duties and hopes being affiliated with Tachibana and all the ripples he's causing won't keep throwing off his balance.


	6. Chapter 6

“Hey, Nanase-kun, do you think I could watch you swim?”

Haruka stares blankly at the source of that sudden bombshell, straw hanging out of his mouth. Tachibana smiles meekly back, fidgeting with his frozen coffee something-or-other.

They're sitting in the school cafe again, attempting to do some more work on their project. Well, the key word is attempting – Haruka's been drawing pages of dolphins and orcas with no relevance to the plot, and Tachibana's been talking about everything except the project. So far Haruka's learned that Tachibana has two younger siblings, twins in middle school, and that he apparently really likes chocolate. And green curry. Haruka isn't sure what he's supposed to do with this knowledge, but it's in his brain now.

And now, in the middle of their non-productive productivity, Tachibana is saying that he wants to see Haruka swim.

Tachibana raises his hands. “It's fine if you don't! It's just, I have the rest of the day off, and, well, I'm having some trouble writing out the dolphin in our story...I don't think I know how to write someone loving the water like the dolphin does. And since Nanase-kun seems to, I thought maybe, if I watched you, I could understand...but if you don't want to, it's fine! Maybe I can just watch some dolphin documentaries on the computer or something.”

Haruka thoughtfully chews on his straw. “...You said you were free after this?”

Tachibana blinks, then nods. “Um, yeah. All my classes are done for the day and I don't have work, so...”

Making a thoughtful hum, Haruka drains the rest of his water then sets the cup down on the table with a decisive nod. He stands up. “Let's go.”

“Eh? What? Ah—wait, Nanase-kun!”

Haruka pays little attention to Tachibana's fumbling for his bag, instead having grabbed his as he now strides out of the cafe with purpose. He'd been planning to swim later anyways, but getting in a little earlier will extend his time. He can feel his pulse quickening with anticipation at the thought of the water waiting for him, and he knows his eyes are probably shining. They always do when he has a chance to feel the water.

Tachibana manages to catch up quickly enough, and walks a step or so behind Haruka as they head for the school gymnasium. The guards don't even ask for Haruka's ID anymore, they just nod at him when he walks by and he makes a beeline for the pool room. Tachibana stops, apparently trying to be a good citizen and prove his membership at the college, but the guards just lazily wave him in too, and he's left to run a few steps after Haruka, who is barely paying attention to his companion.

The pool is calling.

He tosses his bag in the vague direction of the benches lining the room – nothing's breakable in it anyways, who cares – and doesn't even bother with the changing room, just stripping out of his shirt immediately.

He is vaguely aware of Tachibana making a sound stuck between a cough and a startled squawk, something like “Nanase-kun, what are you doing!?”, but Haruka ignores it. The water is more important. He kicks off his pants and shoes just as quickly – there's more sputters from Tachibana – to reveal his jammers that he'd been wearing in anticipation of swimming today. In just a few seconds all extraneous clothing is gone and he's ready to be one with the water.

His pace quickens into a run – one, two, three strides, on the third he draws his arms out and up, arcing over his head as he leans forward and uses his momentum to push off the pool edge and dive into the water.

The rush of bubbles crawling over his body from the initial wake feels like taking the first breath after a long time of holding it. It brings a rush of life and clarity through Haruka's body, and he doesn't have to open his eyes to see the bright blue surrounding him, dancing in his mind's vision as always.

He breaks the surface after a short time, his body following the instincts of competitive front crawling even though he hasn't competed since middle school, where he swept all gold medals in freestyle his second year. For one year he'd been the talk of the school swimming circles, but the next year it all crashed, with his grandmother's death and his parent's warnings that after middle school, he would have to stop. And so the name of Nanase Haruka vanished from competitive swimming – a brief, blinding burst of talent that vanished into nothingness afterwards, like a supernova.

He doesn't really care, though. He had never swum for recognition or winning, he just wanted to feel the water. Still, he misses the rush of it sometimes. Kicking off the start block at the whistle, forcing his body to not just feel the water but work with it, surpass it and go faster, and the feeling of hitting the end ahead of everyone else. It hadn't been what he swum for, but it hadn't been disagreeable, either.

He doesn't need to open his eyes as he flows into his familiar front crawl. The scenery is imprinted onto his mind after countless hours spent in this pool. Instead, he loses himself in the feel of the water and his own imaginings, leaving the real world behind. With his eyes closed, he can pretend the water goes on forever – a vast, clear abyss of nothing but blue.

It's not infinite in reality, though, and his body automatically counts strokes, flipping over and pushing off the poolside when he comes to the end. He's swam this path so many times that he doesn't need eyes to see when the edge is coming, his body just knows. It knows when he's approaching the other edge again and he pulls into a neat flip yet again. And again.

He loses track of how many laps he does, losing himself in a world of boundless blue. He only stops when his body can't physically keep up with the toll of swimming anymore, and he rolls on his back to float in the cool water.

He finally opens his eyes as he floats to catch his breath, and his world shrinks to just a pool in a gymnasium again. It always hits him like a physical loss, when he can no longer pretend the water is limitless.

He closes his eyes but he's already lost the illusion for now, so he rolls over and glides through the water, towards the edge. A single fluid kick of his body and he surfaces again, grabbing the edge of the pool as he shakes the excess water out of his hair and then opens his eyes once more.

And remembers he's not alone as he looks up to see Tachibana standing in front of him.

Haruka can't describe the look on Tachibana's face. He looks...surprised, sort of, eyes wide and mouth open slightly, but the intensity is different. The glimmer in those green eyes is strange, something Haruka has never really seen before, and he can't bring himself to look away. It's as if he's the only thing in the world right now to Tachibana and the heaviness of that gaze creates gravity all on its own that Haruka can't pull away from. It's like the world of illusion he has with water, but different – the outside world is still there, but washed out, blurry, non-important, and only Tachibana is in focus.

Suddenly Tachibana blinks, sucks in a breath sharply, and it's broken and Haruka immediately looks away, sinking down into the embrace of water until only his eyes show as he tries to control the foreign heat in his cheeks that Tachibana is too talented at bringing out. Stupid attractive project partners.

Tachibana clears his throat and laughs weakly, and Haruka looks up at him through his eyelashes. Tachibana's face is bright red as well, and he's looking at some point of the poolside to the left, away from Haruka as he rubs the back of his neck. “Um. You're...your swimming is...is really beautiful, Nanase-kun. Just like a real dolphin. I-I think I can write a few ideas down now, so um. Thank you for showing me, it was...um. Nice.”

His rambles trail off as he scratches his cheek, embarrassed smile playing on his lips. Haruka nods stiffly. He doesn't know how to deal with this atmosphere between Tachibana and himself, and the prickling running across his skin when Tachibana's eyes flash towards him again makes him itch for the water to soothe it, or help him deal with it, or something, so he dunks underwater and pushes off with a sharp kick, trying to lose himself in the water again and calm his pulse.

Tachibana's gaze follows him like a living thing, and despite the blue surrounding him, Haruka's mind is occupied with his paints and wondering what to mix to get that shade of green.


	7. Chapter 7

Things change between Tachibana and Haruka after that.

There's an undercurrent of invisible tension every time their eyes meet, causing that prickling feeling to dance along Haruka's nerves and a subtle turning of his stomach. It's like the attraction from before, but different, deeper, stronger, causing Haruka to want to get closer at times, never looking from those peridot eyes, and at others he wants to run far away from Tachibana and submerge himself in the pool for hours because it's...different. It's pressure, it's change, it's scary, and Haruka doesn't like it.

He was doing just fine before, he doesn't need this...this _gravity_ between them. And yet he can't stop himself from sneaking glances at Tachibana whenever possible, and accidentally meeting his eyes because Tachibana's sneaking glances back at Haruka but he's less subtle about it, or worse at hiding them than Haruka is, and then the prickling returns and Haruka has to run to the pool to relieve it.

Today is one such day, as Creative Writing had been basically torture – sitting so close to Tachibana, and being equally unable to get closer or run away. The conflicting urges are stirring the waters of Haruka's mind, causing a storm that he doesn't know how to weather.

It's annoying.

So here he is, floating in the placid calm of the pool, trying to erase vibrant green from the backs of his eyelids and replace it with endless blue.

It's half-successful – the blue comes, but now it's muddied with green, swirling with two different colors into images of lily pads on water and clear streams running through fields. Haruka doesn't know how to feel about that.

“Hey, Nanase! Figured you'd be in here. Mind keeping to one half of the pool?”

A loud voice drags Haruka out of his confusing thoughts – he's unsure if he's glad about it or not, and that's also annoying – and he looks to the side of the pool. It's the captain of the swim team, as he thought.

He's seen the guy a lot since he started college. Apparently they're in the same year, although Haruka has no idea what he studies and less interest in finding out. It's hard to forget the guy, though – stark red hair the color of wine with eyes to match, a sharp smile filled with sharper teeth, and a friendly, pushy personality. Yes, Matsuoka stands out a lot.

He also stands out because he tries to recruit Haruka into the swim team at every opportunity.

Matsuoka is walking over to the side of the pool, tucking long red strands into a swim cap. Arranging his goggles on his forehead, the captain puts his fists on his hips and stares down at Haruka, cocking a long, thin eyebrow. “I don't get why you don't just join the team already. It's not like you're not fast enough, you'd probably be our front crawl superstar if you tried.”

“I don't care about winning or times.” Although he's not entirely opposed to the idea of competitive swimming, Haruka just doesn't feel the need to join. Yes, he enjoyed racing, but the very thought that he'd instantly be a central figure in the team makes him balk. No more expectations.

There's a heavy sigh and a muttered “Figures” from Matsuoka and then several moments of blissful floating peace before the redhead smashes it again.

“You know, one day that wasted talent of yours is going to hurt someone.”

Haruka frowns slightly, pulling out of his back float to stare at Matsuoka. What does that mean? He isn't exceptionally talented, or at least, he doesn't think so. He just swims. Surely someone with proper training would decimate Haruka's times – it's not like this college is known for its swim team, after all. In fact, it's more a recreational team that sometimes competes, a mood fostered by Matsuoka himself. So what does Haruka's talent have to do with anything? It's not like it would matter for this team.

Matsuoka rolls his eyes slightly. “Don't glare at me, it's true. With proper training, you could be a world-class athlete, but here you are pissing about. Any proper coach or trainer would cry if they saw you. Fuck, watching you makes _me_ want to cry.”

Haruka is mildly offended – he is not glaring, thank you very much – so the next words spill out of his mouth without much thought. “Why? It's not like you're one to talk about wasted talent.”

Because it's true. He's only seen a few practices, but he's seen enough to know that Matsuoka _doesn't_ try. He keeps everyone on the training schedule, but laughs it off when times don't improve. His words are never like the swim coaches of Haruka's middle school past – instead of “try harder and train more”, it's always “you tried your best” and “it's a sport for fun anyways, don't worry about it” from Matsuoka's mouth instead. For someone lecturing Haruka on wasting his talent, he's awfully unconcerned with his own.

Once the words are out of his mouth, Matsuoka's face changes. For just a moment, there's a fire there – anger, frustration, a spark that turns his red from dull wine into raging flames. For a moment, it's like he's seeing a different person. A person with fire and dreams who certainly wouldn't settle for “you'll do better next time”. The Matsuoka he sees for just a brief second would either take first with his own hands or die trying.

Then it just bleeds away, and Matsuoka's usual smile returns, and Haruka feels almost disgusted with how fake it feels after seeing that brief moment of truth. How could anyone suppress that passion? Doesn't he want to be free?

Matsuoka rolls a shoulder in an easy shrug, wryly laughing as he starts walking towards to other end of the pool towards the starting blocks. “Yeah, well, not all of us are natural geniuses, Nanase. It's useless for ordinary guys like me to try. So, think about your duty as a talented person and consider joining the team sometime!”

Matsuoka pulls his goggles over his eyes and snaps the band in that way Haruka's seen him do a few times as he mounts the starting block and dives in.

Haruka looks away, unable to watch, because in that moment Matsuoka's butterfly seems like it's restrained, caged, as if the weights of expectations are lashed to his arms and weighing him back instead of flying free as the stroke so often is praised for.

Is Haruka the only one who swims free?

A mixture of guilt and disgust settles like a cold rock in his stomach, and Haruka doesn't feel like swimming anymore. The water's cooling touch feels clammy right now. So he hauls himself out of the pool and heads for the showers, not looking back.


	8. Chapter 8

This whole mess is beginning to make Haruka wish he'd never accepted the offer to be partners with Tachibana, because it's like that one action was a catalyst to send the rest of Haruka's simple life spiraling out of control.

If he hadn't met Tachibana, then he wouldn't have this strange attraction-but-stronger tension running between them that makes it hard to concentrate on anything other than stupid things like the way Tachibana pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth when he's nervous, or the curve of his neck muscles connecting to his collarbone, or mixing paints absentmindedly and realizing he's done about ten shades of green. It's like he's getting attached to the guy. Haruka defends his freedom fiercely – he doesn't do _attachment_.

If he hadn't met the guy, then he wouldn't have had stupid conversations with Hazuki or Matsuoka that made Haruka feel uncomfortable, because it feels like he's been told something he shouldn't have and he doesn't know the words to say to return to the state of being casual acquaintances he knows nothing about.

And, related to talking to Matsuoka, he would never feel so conflicted about swimming. Going to the pool is now laced with an uneasy feeling of guilt, like Haruka is the only one the water favors, and the rest have been beaten down by it – Matsuoka and Hazuki gave up, and Tachibana is afraid of it. Why is Haruka the only one out of this strange circle of acquaintances who is spared such uneasiness? Is it because he's not living up to his talents, like Matsuoka said? Because he's lucky, like Hazuki said?

Does Haruka's freedom come at the price of others?

He doesn't know, and the fact that his usual retreat from the world is sullied with impure emotions makes him restless and frustrated. He can't escape the tension with Tachibana by swimming anymore, as that just creates an entirely different tension instead, and the last thing he wants is to run into Matsuoka again.

Without the pool, there's only two ways left to reach freedom – painting and sex. And, unfortunately, the sex isn't doing it either. Each time feels a little duller, and he realizes that he's unconsciously seeking out little bits of a whole in his partners – green eyes there, messy brown hair there, or maybe a tall guy with a fantastic build. His mind knows what the parts add up to but he shies away from it. He doesn't know what it means, and it frustrates him that one guy can affect him so much, one guy whose existence had basically been nothing but bathroom rumors to him before a silly project.

All he has left is paint, then, and he can't even escape his frustrations there. But, at least, he can let it out. He can pile his anxieties and frustrations and misplaced lust onto the canvases and get it out of himself. So he paints.

Thinking of Matsuoka, Hazuki, and the water makes Haruka paint storms on the ocean. The wind howls and screams and froths the water, but the deep ocean remains unmoved by the storm. The futile rage of being unable to win. He also paints a tiger shark once – dappled hide gliding through the empty water. It looks very small and alone for such a powerful creature. Haruka actually rather likes the painting, but he's not sure if anyone else will understand it.

Thinking of Tachibana, he paints more varied things, like lily pads on ponds, sea grass against the ocean, sea glass in the foaming waves. The wide variety of subjects is fitting, he thinks, for the wide variety of emotions. In a vague attempt at working on their project, he also paints a lot of orca and dolphin portraits. Orcas and dolphins in shallow seas, deep seas, sheltered coves, pounding waves...and yet still he can't find clarity.

What is wrong? Where are his emotions twisting, and how can he unravel them?

Over the course of two weeks, Haruka basically lives in his studio. The student he shares with – an uppity fashion-obsessed first year by the name of Ryugazaki who should have been a math major by how bad he is at art and how he calculates his drawings with triangulation – has more than once asked if something is bothering him, but Haruka brushes it off. No new people, this whole mess is because of new people, the last thing he needs is deepening another relationship.

It doesn't help that Tachibana hasn't yet made an appointment to come see Haruka's paintings, like he asked. Haruka thinks that maybe, since Tachibana's good with words, if he sees all these paintings born of conflicting feelings maybe he can put what it is that's tormenting Haruka into words and Haruka can sort it out from there. It's Tachibana's fault, so surely Tachibana has the solution. But it's been a busy two weeks for Tachibana – work, writing the project, and dates.

Haruka's mouth twists into a scowl as he stares at his latest painting, yet another fail at capturing Iwatobi. As an excuse to use green, it's heavily overcast with storm clouds casting an eerie light over the painted buildings.

That was the reason Tachibana turned down Haruka's subtle invitation to come visit when he'd asked in class yesterday. An apologetic smile and “ _I'm sorry, Nanase-kun, but Miyamoto-san from my biology lecture asked me to see a movie with her tomorrow. It's a fairly late showing, and I have to rush from work to get there, so I don't think I have time. Maybe some other time?_ ” was all he got, and he could only nod blankly. What was he supposed to do, tell Tachibana not to go on his date just so he should come look at repetitive water paintings? Surely not.

And so Haruka's company had been turned down for a girl – a cute girl with bobbed brown hair and barrettes in her bangs, if he guessed correctly from the brief glimpse of Tachibana in the halls earlier today.

Tachibana's serial dater reputation hasn't really made itself known to Haruka until now. He'd heard the rumors, but had dismissed them as unimportant to their project. He'd thought that it didn't matter if Tachibana bedded every girl in the city as long as he didn't skimp his work, but now, for some reason, he's bothered. It's not like he should be – Haruka isn't one to talk about frivolous relationships, it's all he has by his own choice – but for some reason being turned down in favor of some insipid movie with an insipid girl... _angers_ Haruka. He doesn't like it. It sends a bubbling mess of dark emotions frothing in the pit of his stomach, and then he gets angry over feeling those things since he has no logical right to, and that just adds more bad feelings.

Yes, a stormcast ocean was a good painting subject today. He globs more Hooker's green onto his clouds, jabbing the paintbrush into the canvas with more force than necessary. He's going to need to replace his paintbrushes at this rate, with how emotional his painting has been recently.

It's just so _frustrating_. So troublesome. He hates it.

Sighing deeply, Haruka flops his paintbrush down and leans back, grabbing the edges of the stool with his hands to balance himself as he closes his eyes and tries to ease his anxiety with imaging his limitless waterworld, at least for a little bit.

He needs to sort this out, but he's no good with feelings. He knows only two people who are and that he trusts enough to talk with about this, even though the very idea fills him with a shiver of dread.

He's going to have to talk to Ken and Yoshida.


	9. Chapter 9

“It's been a while, Haruka! I think this is the first time you've ever called me first. So, is the world ending? Do I have to help you bury a body?”

Haruka sucks down a mouthful of ice water as he regrets his life decisions. Or, at the least, regrets being socially inept enough to have to stoop to this level – sitting after hours at his workplace and about to confide in one of the only people he trusts enough to help him sort out these feelings.

Ken sits across from him at the second table from the back in Idetica, messy chestnut hair held back by a scraggly headband as always and a smirk distorting the stubble around his mouth and chin. There's a strong odor of clay and paint coming off the other man, and the coveralls he's wearing are fairly stained – he must have been working on a project today. It's just like Ken, and Haruka lets himself relax a little. Here is one person he doesn't have to worry about changing suddenly and leaving Haruka reeling.

Haruka lets out a breath in a sigh, one hand absently coming up to fidget with the delicate silver piercings lining his left ear. It's a nervous habit he acquired when he got his first set – from Ken on his eighteenth birthday, a graduation present and birthday present in one, and they go to the piercing parlor every June thirtieth to get a new one – and Haruka twirls a silver post as he tries to align his thoughts into words and start this conversation. He's bad with words on the best of days – when his feelings are involved, they muddy his thoughts even worse and it becomes an exercise in frustration.

But he needs to regain his calm, and he needs help for that. Ken has said it a million times – no one can help Haruka if he never tells them what is wrong.

He forces his hand away from his ear, instead wrapping his fingers around his glass and willing the water to lend him its placid calm. His emotions are a flat pond, his thoughts a gentle stream. Let them flow and pool naturally with every breath.

He lets out a soft sigh, before forcing himself to look up and meet Ken's gaze. “I need your advice.”

His blunt admission sends Ken's eyebrows towards his hairline. “My advice? What for? I mean, not that I'm not happy you came to me for help, but when does stubborn, independent 'I have to be free like the water' Haruka ever willingly ask for advice? You usually treat the idea like it's a spectacularly nasty hairball in your shoe.”

Haruka's mouth pulls into a frown. He does _not_ , Ken's given him plenty of good advice before. And an exponentially larger amount of bad advice, but that doesn't mean that Haruka doesn't know good advice when he hears it. “I do not.”

“Yes you do! You usually just do your lizard gaze and pretend to be hearing-impaired for the next four hours. Last time I gave you advice, you pretended I didn't exist for a month!”

Oh. Yeah. That. Haruka doesn't have fond memories of that particular localized disaster and it's all Ken's fault. He narrows his eyes. “You tried to set me up with a lunatic.”

“Hey now, he appeared to be a perfectly rational and normal guy when I suggested it–“

“He brought a contract to the first date. It had a graph about acceptable bed ratios per person.” Haruka glares at Ken, who winces and holds up his hands in surrender. That had been a trainwreck and another bullet point in the list of reasons Haruka didn't date.

Ken sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, I admit, that was my bad, but I honestly didn't expect that guy to be like that, he'd been normal whenever I talked to him. Anyways, the point is, what's so important that you are actually seeking my advice on something? I've never known you to ask anyone for any advice ever since I met you.”

Haruka sucks in a breath, not prepared for the conversation to shift back to the original subject without warning. He clenches his hands around his glass. Breathe. Calm. Let the unpleasant feelings flow like running water until they are flushed away.

He closes his eyes for a few moments to compose himself, before he manages to piece together an opener. “...I met a guy.”

Ken makes a surprised noise, and Haruka opens his eyes to glare at him, wanting to quell any stupid ideas that are surely popping into his head at this very moment. “Don't say anything stupid, it's not what you think.”

Ken holds up his hands in a pacifying gesture. “Okay, okay, not saying anything. Go on.”

Haruka keeps his glare on Ken for a few moments, before closing his eyes and breathing out softly. “He...it's weird. He's disrupting everything and I don't know what to do. He's making me feel things I shouldn't, and it's frustrating. So. I...don't know what to do.”

Ken listens to his little spiel in silence, watching Haruka with a strange look on his face, as if he knows something. A few moments after Haruka stops talking, long enough that it's obvious Haruka has run out of words, Ken sighs and rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Well...try describing these feelings? I can't help if I don't know what you're feeling.”

Haruka stirs his water with the straw in it, looking for the right words. “He's...frustrating. I can't take my eyes off him when I should, I've never had that problem with anyone else, even if they're attractive. I want to get closer but at the same time I want to run away. I get angry when he's off dating girls, and I shouldn't, and that makes me angrier. It makes no sense why I feel any of these things. It's confusing and I don't like it, and I don't know how...how to make everything go back to what it was.”

During his speech, Ken's face goes from thoughtful to something like understanding, and maybe a little like...pity? What does that mean? He smiles ruefully, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Man, it's like Yoshida said...I never thought I'd have to walk you through something like this.”

A scowl starts pulling the corners of Haruka's mouth down. What does he mean? What's so obvious that Haruka seems to be missing? “What do you mean?”

Ken sighs, rolling his eyes to the ceiling as if he's praying for something. He rubs at the bridge of his nose for a moment, before leaning forward onto the table and looking directly at Haruka. “Haruka, this should be pretty obvious, but I guess I can't be surprised by the depths of your social awkwardness. You _like_ this guy.”

Haruka's frown deepens. What...? “Well, he is hard to dislike, that's why he has all those girls clamoring to go out with him. It's annoying, he's too nice.”

Ken makes a frustrated sound, like he's stuck between laughing and sighing. “No, Haruka, it's not about being a nice guy. You _like_ him. As in romantically. As in on the way to loving him. As in wanting to kiss him and marry him and raise a buttload of kids together. That sort of thing.”

The moment Ken's words filter into Haruka's brain, it's like the world shuts off because he can't understand. That's not _right_. Love is warmth and comfort and the smell of tea as he sits by his grandmother's knee, not this...this confusion. That's what it was, right? That familial happiness mixed with lust, that was surely what people labeled as romantic love. Haruka certainly feels nothing comfortable about this whole situation – all it's done is the opposite. Surely this confusing, whirlwind feeling can't be why people get married. Why would you marry someone who made you feel so insecure and off-balance? For all their other faults, the stability of his parent's marriage had never been one of them, and they certainly had never gone through this. He can't imagine his father ever feeling this frustrated and confused, or his mother committing to anything so uncertain for her future just because of feelings. It _can't_ be right. “That's not possible.”

Ken spreads his hands, giving Haruka a helpless smile. “Well, it sure sounds like a textbook example to me. You're even jealous because he's dating other people. I'm pretty sure anyone could tell you the same, if you asked them.”

“That's not...it's not...” Haruka can't find the words to explain how _not right_ it is. He _isn't_. That's not what it is, _it can't be_. “That's not how it works.”

“Because you're oh-so-knowledgeable about how love works.” The sarcasm in Ken's voice bites through Haruka and he flinches a bit. But he can't be! “Come on, Haruka, I know you have this whole weird 'no attachment' policy, but you can't deny that you like the guy. Why else would you get upset that he's dating, if you didn't want that for yourself? Why else would get you want to get closer but want to run away? That's normal, tons of people get nervous around their crushes, because they're scared of rejection but they still want to get close. All this you're going through, it's just because you want to be the guy's boyfriend, but you're scared and confused about it, it's natural. Everyone who's interested in romance goes through this. I have, Yoshida, has, your parents have...it's nothing to be scared of, Haruka.”

Each of Ken's words digs into Haruka's skin like little needles. He feels it like a physical sensation, goosebumps prickling along his arms. Every word Ken speaks is solid with truth, but Haruka just can't believe. This wasn't supposed to happen. This isn't how it's supposed to go. Dating and romantic attachment and marriage are chains, things that belonged to the future his parents wanted and that Haruka should have escaped. He's not supposed to want them, he _doesn't_ want them. The thought is terrifying, and the fact that an increasingly-large part of him is whispering to try it anyways is even more so.

He can't love Tachibana, he _can't_.

The cafe suddenly feels entirely too small, and Haruka can't stand to be in it anymore. He stands up abruptly, and his half-finished glass of water ripples with the movement. Haruka focuses on it for a moment, concentrating on the tiny detail that he usually never leaves his water unfinished.

“Haruka?” Ken blinks at him, and Haruka makes an aborted movement with his hands. He's not even sure what he was reaching for. What does he need? He needs to get out, to become free and settle his thoughts.

“I...” Haruka starts, then cuts himself off. He doesn't know what to say. He knows what he needs to do, though, he can say that. “I need to go.”

He grabs his bag and speeds towards the door, ignoring Ken's call of “wait, Haruka!”. He doesn't want to wait, he doesn't want to hear anything more. He can't accept what's already been said, he wouldn't be able to withstand anymore chipping at his walls. He'd crumble and fall apart.

He runs out of the cafe, keeps running blindly, and he feels like he's sixteen years old and fleeing his parent's apartment all over again.


	10. Chapter 10

Haruka sits on the floor of his studio, surrounded by canvases, and tries to piece his life back together.

Yesterday, the day of the gone-horribly-wrong conversation with Ken, he'd fled Idetica with absolutely no plan in mind except to get away. He'd finally come to a stop several blocks away, panting and at a loss. He'd been filled with a nervous, frenetic energy, the need to run away from a threat, but at the same time his mind was blank and fuzzy with no idea of where to go.

Back to Idetica was not an option. The pool didn't feel right, not when it was part of the problem. The studio was filled with paintings that only reminded Haruka of his problems. The only other place he knew was Ken's place, which was also obviously off-limits. The burning need to escape nearly drove him to the nearest gay bar in need of the numbing freedom of sexual gratification, but the idea sent a rush of nauseous self-loathing through him. It was weak and cowardly, running away from his emotions and Tachibana and drowning himself in meaningless sex just because he couldn't deal with them, and it made him feel like the heartless bastard that his peers in high school had labeled him. Becoming free shouldn't mean running away from his problems...but isn't that all he's ever done?

He's such a coward.

The city pressed in on him, the buildings towering over his head with disapproving expressions like how his mother looked down on him when he was little, so disappointed that he'd failed another test because he'd drawn all over it instead.

He'd started running again, knowing that all he was doing was avoiding the problem and hated himself himself for every step, but he couldn't stop. He ran all the way back to his dorm, the only place his feet had thought to carry him, and he'd collapsed onto his bed a sweaty breathless mess.

Long minutes passed as he simply stared at his wall, thinking of nothing but the pounding of his pulse in his head as he slowly regained his breath. Eventually he curled into himself, laying in a ball on his side as he didn't let himself think about anything, pushing away the guilt and the fear away until his mind was as empty white as his wall and he lost track of the minutes and his eyes slid shut.

He'd awoken to the bright sunlight of morning and a ton of messages from Ken. Most of them were apologies and inquiries about how he was doing, although some were restatements about how Haruka couldn't run away from everything.

Haruka slid his phone shut, pushing away the creeping guilt for worrying one of the few people that gave a damn about Haruka in this world. Later, he would deal with it later. Now, he couldn't afford to think about anything.

He got up, mechanically going through all of his morning rituals, before grabbing his art supplies and marching towards the studio. The first step of order was to paint the feelings out and he could think about them once they'd been transformed to canvas and paint.

When he'd reached the studio, though, he'd quickly discovered a problem – he'd run out of canvas. All the emotional paintings he'd done since the crisis started had eaten through his supplies faster than he'd thought.

So, here he is, trying to decide which painting he likes least so he can paint over it.

Haruka's eyes flick over each canvas, faint frown on his lips as he considers. At this point, it's deciding on the painting that has the least emotional significance right now, one that doesn't matter to unraveling his emotional state. Unfortunately, most of these are important – little vital clues to piecing together his feelings and sewing himself back together. It's hard to pick one that doesn't make him pang with loss at the thought of ruining it.

He picks up one of the many landscapes of his fuzzy Iwatobi, scrutinizing it closely. Maybe this one...? It's not one of the ones he painted in his funk over the past few weeks, but at the same time that makes it almost refreshing to look at, since it's not tainted with bitter feelings.

Absorbed as he is in his perusal, he almost doesn't hear the timid knock on the door.

He does, though, and when it filters through he blinks and turns around, regarding the door with surprise. No one knocks. Ryugazaki has his own key and doesn't need to. The other art students and teachers come in with Haruka himself on the rare occasions they stop by for a critique.

So, who is at his studio door?

After a long moment, he stands and crosses the room to the door, unlatching it and pulling it open, unsure of who he's going to see on the other side.

Tachibana is not the answer he expects.

The brunet startles a bit when the door opens, before his mouth pulls into that sweet smile that Haruka can automatically trace. His mouth moves, saying something for sure, but all Haruka can hear is the buzzing pounding rush of his pulse, making everything else sound tinny and indistinct. His cheeks and fingertips start to prickle with heat, and he can't look away from those eyes that are shining softly, or those soft-looking lips that are forming words that Haruka should probably be listening to.

This all comes together in a heady rush, a clarifying snap like diving into the water.

_Ken was right_ is the only thing Haruka can think in the resulting haze. _I like him. I really like him. So this is what that means._

And Haruka doesn't have a single clue what to do about it.

Tachibana's eyebrows – the same shade of tea brown as his hair and slightly thick, what a weird detail to notice about someone really – start to furrow together as his expression changes into one of hesitant worry, and Haruka abruptly realizes that yes, Tachibana had been talking to him. Probably about something important like, oh, _why he was here_ , and Haruka hadn't heard a damn word.

Feeling his cheeks flush with heat as he blushes, Haruka clears his throat slightly. This is new, this is scary, and Haruka is absolutely lost about what to do, or what he even wants. “...S-Sorry. What did you say?”

Tachibana blinks in surprise, before smiling again with a bit more confusion. “Um...well, I said that, since I couldn't come yesterday, I thought that maybe dropping in today would be okay...? I asked the staff and they said you were here, so I came. I hope I'm not interrupting anything...?”

His voice trails off uncertainly, as Haruka probably hadn't made the best impression of cognitive thought. His expression is a mix of hopeful and worried, as if he's anxious about Haruka's answer, and the cuteness of it suddenly hits Haruka like a sledgehammer and he has to look away before his face gets any redder.

Haruka really isn't sure he likes this whole _liking someone_ mess. It's just made everything far more awkward than before.

“...Do what you like.” Haruka steps to the side, pulling the door open more as he mumbles. Well, he'd wanted this, and the thought that Tachibana had apparently worried about turning Haruka down enough to come first thing in the morning the very next day makes a warmth spark deep in his belly.

No, he can't afford to think like this. Tachibana's straight, he'd turned Haruka down yesterday because of a date with a girl. He can't let himself get stupidly happy about this sort of thing.

He uses the ugly jealousy – the fact that he can out a name to the feeling now helps, a little – that springs up at the thought of Tachibana's date to push his embarrassment down, and he manages to get the heat in his face under control as Tachibana steps into the studio, head swiveling and green eyes wide as he takes in everything.

Trying to distract himself from the presence of his newly-identified crush, Haruka busies himself with collecting the canvases off the floor and propping them against the wall. He doubts he's going to be able to finish the selection process now anyways.

Tachibana stands in the middle of the room, watching Haruka tidy up with his hands clutched together like a little kid who's afraid of breaking something but really wants to touch. Haruka forces the amused tugging at his lips into a faintly exasperated sigh. “Look through any canvas you want, they're all dry and you won't hurt anything.”

“Oh! Um, if that's okay then...” Tachibana twiddles his fingers and shuffles a bit, hesitating a few moments longer before stepping over to the nearest pile of canvases leaning against the wall. Ryugazaki always did bemoan Haruka's lack of proper storage.

He picks up one of the pond paintings first, eyes going wide. Haruka notes that the lily pads in the painting are still not the proper green of Tachibana's eyes. “Wow...you're really good, Nanase-kun! These are amazing.”

Haruka looks at his fingers and hopes his blush isn't all that noticeable, shrugging one shoulder fluidly. “It's what I do. I'm not perfect, the teachers always find things for me to improve.”

“I can't believe it...your water is so beautiful it's almost real.” Tachibana's soft laugh seems to fill the room with an invisible cottony warmth. “Some of these looks like photographs!”

Haruka is so very screwed. He ducks his head, rearranging the pile of paintings in front of him and trying to ignore the fact that his face has become a mask of red. “...It's nothing.”

“No, really, these are all amazing, they're so...” Tachibana trails off, and for a moment Haruka lets his shoulders slump slightly in relaxation. He doesn't know how much more adoring praise of his skills he can take before his face explodes and his ears just shrivel up and fall off from how hard they're blushing.

This is dangerous. He needs to get over this. It's useless and impossible and the source of all his problems. If he can just get over this stupid crush on Tachibana, then Haruka's life will return to its normal simplicity and he will no longer be so off-balance. It's for the best.

He's sitting there listing all the reasons to give up mentally, trying to convince his heart to the same, when Tachibana's voice starts up again and Haruka is abruptly drawn out of his mental world by the sound. “...Hey, Nanase-kun?”

Haruka disguises his gaze through his eyelashes, watching Tachibana out of the corner of his eye. “What?”

Tachibana is holding two paintings side by side, a strange, thoughtful expression on his face as his green eyes flick between the two canvases. “Um...can I ask if you painted these from photos or something? They all seem to be the same place, and...”

He doesn't finish his sentence, and Haruka puzzles over it in confusion for a moment. And...what? Tachibana never makes much sense at the best of times, Haruka has no idea what he means. He looks at the paintings Tachibana is holding. More failures of Iwatobi. Ah, not a photo then. “...A town I used to visit when I was younger.”

Tachibana's fingers tighten white on the canvas he's holding. “Was...was it called Iwatobi?”

Haruka looks fully at Tachibana at that in surprise. How had he known...? The feeling he'd gotten when he'd first met Tachibana, that jangling sense of nostalgia, jumped at Haruka again. What was he missing...? “...Yes. Do you know it?”

The other man doesn't answer for a moment, just staring at Haruka with wide green eyes. Haruka stares right back, trying to find the connection that's obviously come to Tachibana but is still fathomless nonsense to Haruka himself.

Tachibana sucks in a breath, and of all things Haruka's expecting him to say, a blurted “ _Haru-chan_!?” is definitely not one of them.

Haruka reels back from the sudden exclamation a bit like he's been hit. Haru... _chan_? What the hell?

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Tachibana goes deep red and squeaks, dropping the canvases and slapping his hands over his face. “Oh god, I'm so sorry!! I just...it slipped out of habit...!”

“What habit? No one's ever called me that...” Haruka tries to calm his thumping heart and fierce blush that had sprung up. Haru-chan is...cute, and intimate, and absolutely nothing Tachibana should ever want to call Haruka. Where did he get that from, anyways!? “We've never met before, why would you call me that?”

Tachibana pulls his hands off his face, still blushing deeply. “I'm so sorry, but...um, if you really, uh...um. We may not have met in person, but...you're really _that_ Nanase Haruka, right? The one who would visit every summer during Obon, at Grandma Nanase's house up the stairs and next to the shrine...? We were always gone, so we never met, but she told me a lot of things of things about you, and I just...kind of preempted you into a friend into my head. Made up a whole thing about calling you 'Haru-chan' since Grandma Nanase said you didn't like how girly your name was...I'm so sorry!”

Haruka watches Tachibana with dumb confusion as his speech continues. How...? How did Tachibana know those things? That had certainly Haruka's grandmother's house, lost now as it is. Was he from Iwatobi....? Wait, Tachibana, Makoto, where had he heard these names before...?

Memories flash through his mind in sudden succession, like someone's snapping photos in his mind. His grandmother's voice, roughed with age, talking about how sweet little “Makoto-kun” across the street is and how Haruka would like him. Her voice holding a certain lilt and pattern to her words that he can hear in Tachibana's voice, the accent that bugged him when they first met – the accent of Iwatobi, set deep in Tottori. Walking up the steps to his grandmother's house in the salty breeze and hot sun of late summer, passing the second shrine gate on the stairs and a house on the right that always looked warm and lived-in even though the occupants were never home when he was there. A fairly large, well-cared-for two-story family home with a nameplate on the wall next to the porch stairs to the house, a nameplate with a single elegant character that he'd asked his father the meaning of once and he had replied _Tachibana_...

Understanding rushes through Haruka like a crashing wave and he stares wide-eyed at the young man standing in his studio. It's like reality has shifted just a little bit, bringing everything into clearer focus and at the same time causing Haruka to feel off-center, like his balance shifted.

This is Makoto. The Makoto that Haruka had spent countless hours daydreaming about. The Makoto that made Haruka wonder if he could have had a friend growing up if only he'd lived in Iwatobi. And here he is, standing in front of Haruka in the flesh, just as helplessly nice as his grandmother had described him. She had been right, Haruka did like him.

Just, probably, a little more deeply than she had thought.

“Makoto. You're that Makoto,” Haruka breathes out loud, more to recenter himself. Of all coincidences, this is one he least expected. Who would ever think that the random guy asking to be his project partner is the same as the little kid next to his grandmother's house that Haruka had turned into something near an imaginary friend in his mind?

Is it a coincidence at all? Didn't his grandmother always say that such things meant that it was meant to happen?

At his words, Tachibana's face lights up, smile spreading easily and eyes sparkling a lively, excited color, and Haruka can't quite look away. “Oh wow! It really is you! I thought the painting in the coffee shop we met in the one time looked familiar, but I never thought it'd be my hometown...! Oh man, I spent so much time thinking about how you'd act, cause Grandma Nanase said you were kind of quiet but a good kid, and she had a picture, so I made up this whole thing about 'Haru-chan' and how you'd protect me from bullies, and...that's...really embarrassing, now that I think about it.”

Tachibana goes bright red, scratching his cheek with a sheepish smile, and Haruka's mind drifts to summers ago where he would sit in his grandmother's living room, sliding door open looking out over the garden...and the pair of windows from the house across the street. He remembers spending hours staring at those windows, wondering if one belonged to “Makoto-kun”, if the distance was short enough from the room Haruka stayed in to use those string phones he saw other kids making sometimes. He feels red start dusting his cheeks again – apparently he's just going to have to live with being permanently red in Tachibana's presence from now on.

So close, but so far, really. If Haruka had lived in Iwatobi, how close would they be now? Would they be close enough for Haruka to reach out and pull him close to kiss without having to ask, a slow languid kiss bred from long familiarity? Or so close that kissing was the farthest thing from their minds, because they'd been friends-as-family so long that anything else was unthinkable?

Haruka doesn't know. He also doesn't know which would be better, or which he wants. Of if the situation they have now is perhaps for the best. Just a little change, and Haruka can see the life he never had spinning out before his eyes – walking home together on long summer days, shimmering ocean on one side and a warm, comfortable presence on the others, shadows melding into one in the sunset.

It fills Haruka with a sense of painfully sweet resignation, of what he could have had had his parents not been who they were, if only they'd valued family and comfort just a little more over social security.

His fingers itch with the need to paint the scene in his head. A need to capture that sun-shimmer alternate reality, if only once.

“I'm sorry, that's probably really creepy, isn't it?” Tachibana's voice interrupts his thoughts, and he looks up to see the brunet smile apologetically, bending down to pick up the abused paintings he'd dropped in surprise. “I didn't mean to take liberties with Nanase-kun...I was just young, and didn't have many real friends, so um. Sorry.”

Haruka shakes his head, looking down to a point on the concrete floor – a splotch of an odd shade of peach that someone had spilled ages ago and let it sit too long to scrub off. “...No. I...did the same thing. About you. So don't worry about it.”

“Oh...” Tachibana's voice is soft and laced with emotions Haruka doesn't understand. Silence bubbles up between them, as it seems Tachibana doesn't know what else to say and Haruka never knows in the first place. To try to prevent it from becoming awkward, Haruka starts flipping through the paintings closest to him, trying to find one he's not particularly attached to. Not that one, he still needs to sort out the feelings, and that one he rather likes for aesthetics–aha, this one.

Haruka plucks the canvas out of the others. It's something old, nothing but seascape. Nothing special technically nor emotionally, prime material to paint over. He sets it on his easel, then drags his stool over – as long as the image is in his head, he might as well start painting it.

Tachibana shuffles awkwardly behind him. “Um...I guess I should probably go, then? If you're busy, I don't want to bother your work...”

“It's fine.” The words are out of Haruka's mouth before he really thinks about it. Tachibana looks surprised when Haruka sneaks a glance at him, quickly looking back at the canvas. What is he saying? Haruka never likes people watching him work. He can tolerate it, sure – he couldn't be an art student if he didn't – but he still prefers being left alone. But the idea of Tachibana watching him...doesn't bother him as much as it should. And he'd already said it was fine, so he can't take that back. “You can watch. If you want.”

Tachibana shuffles his feet quietly behind Haruka as he pulls out his brushes and the jar of acrylic gesso. Haruka mixes the smelly primer for a few moments, before dipping his painting knife into the mix and smearing it across the top in a steady stroke.

“Ah!” Tachibana's startled yelp causes Haruka's hand to jerk and gesso gets smeared in an uneven jag downwards. Haruka grimaces at it, then looks over his shoulder, confused.

“What?”

Tachibana's staring at him with wide green eyes. “You're painting over it, why are you painting over another painting?”

“I don't have any free canvases and this painting isn't anything special, so I was going to recycle it.” Haruka gestures towards the canvas with the knife again. “I do it all the time.”

“But it's such a pretty painting...are you sure you want to ruin that forever? I mean, you can't get it back, right? It just...seems like a waste?” Tachibana trails off, seemingly hesitant of voicing his opinion to the one artist in the room. Haruka shrugs one shoulder, not really seeing what the big deal is. This painting is old and worthless, it's better to reuse the canvas for something more important.

“Letting the canvas sit behind a bad painting is more of a waste. I don't have the spare money to buy more right now.” Haruka dabs the knife back into the gesso, getting a thin layer onto the implement. “Whatever I paint now would be better than this old thing.”

“Oh...well, um, if you're sure. I think it's still kind of sad...so many beautiful paintings gone. But if it's what you do...” Tachibana ducks his head slightly, and Haruka turns back towards the painting to hide the red on his cheeks. This painting is old, nothing special, certainly not beautiful enough to save. He doesn't understand why Tachibana's so hung up on it.

From then on Tachibana is quiet, dragging Ryugazaki's stool over to sit down behind Haruka, and Haruka loses track of time from there, the world swirling into nothing but the movement of his brush and the weight of Tachibana's eyes on him. Somehow, it's not as uncomfortable as Haruka thought it would be – the warm weight of a comforter in winter, rather than a pressing stone. It wraps around him, enveloping him in lazy warmth as his brush first coats the canvas in primer white. It stays wrapped around him as he mixes the colors for his chosen scene while the primer dries – the brilliant oranges and reds and yellows needed for a sunset barely remembered but freshly imagined.

Haruka gets so absorbed in this atmosphere and this painting that he startles badly when a chirpy ringtone shatters the alternate universe back into reality and he drops his paintbrush, smearing his Prussian blue onto the floor. He hears the legs of the other stool scrape as Tachibana makes a surprised yelp.

He bends over to quickly pick up his brush and clean the paint off the floor, to compose himself and let Tachibana do the same as he checks his phone. Who's texting him, anyways?

Is it one of his many girlfriends?

The ugly thought rips away the warm comforter feeling, leaving Haruka chilly and dark. The feeling increases when Tachibana gives that helpless, sorry smile again. “Sorry, Nanase-kun, I have to go.”

He just nods stiffly. What is he to Tachibana, after all? He's not small and cute with pert breasts and dewy eyes and flowery perfume. He won't wriggle into Tachibana's fantasies when he's alone with his hand. What right does he have, to demand any more of his time?

It feels a lot like he's lost at something. Haruka thought he didn't care about such things, but he decides that he doesn't much like the feeling.

Tachibana gets up, neatly putting Ryugazaki's stool back where he found it – a good thing, if Ryugazaki had come in to something on his side of the studio out-of-place, then Haruka would have to listen to him complain about the beauty of the studio being thrown off for _hours_ and that shit is annoying – and turns to give Haruka another smile. “Thanks for letting me watch, Nanase-kun. It was amazing, all your paintings are beautiful, I'd love to come watch again, if I may?”

Haruka really wishes that Tachibana would stop saying things like that. Doesn't he realize what he's doing to Haruka, how hard he's making it for Haruka to get rid of this stupid crush? But he still has this stupid crush so he opens his stupid mouth and says “it's fine” like an idiot with a stupid crush. And it's very stupid when Tachibana's smile getting wider sends warm prickles through his skin and cheeks and heart. Stupid.

“Thank you! I'll be sure to drop by soon. See you in class, Nanase-kun?”

It's the stupid crush, it has to be, making Haruka open his mouth just to embarrass himself yet again. “You don't have to call me that.”

Tachibana blinks. “...Call you what? Nanase-kun? Um, was it too familiar? I'm sorry.”

Haruka looks back at the offensive peach stain, glaring at it as if it will vanish and take his embarrassment with it. And perhaps his crush as well. Stupid Tachibana, too. “...No. Just...you don't have to be so...formal. We're partners, and...things.”

A few beats of silence as Tachibana sorts through Haruka's awkward words, and then “...Haruka-kun?”

Haruka isn't quite ready for his name to be spoken by Tachibana, it sends sparks of a deeply-inappropriate warmth running through his belly and that just won't do. His full name is too...intimate, somehow, and it sends his mind straight to the gutter. He fists his hands, digging his fingernails into his palms to distract himself from the heat building in his cheeks as well as his chest. He thinks of the first excuse he can. “Too girly.”

He can see Tachibana struggling with finding a compromise out of the corner of his eye. A small frown, almost like a pout, draws full eyebrows together and purses thin lips. It's ridiculously cute for a man that has to be over one-eighty in height, and Haruka has to look away again before his thoughts devolve further.

Tachibana's voice is hesitant and even softer than it normally is. “Then...Haru-kun...?”

Haruka's mouth flattens a bit. “No 'kun'. I don't need it.”

A shy smile starts peeking out on Tachibana's face. “Haru...then.”

Haru. A nickname. It's the first he's ever had that isn't derogatory.

It's not bad.

Haruka looks out the window, nodding slightly and hoping that the real sunset out the window will hide his blush. It's sunset already? How many hours had he painted?

“Well then, if I call you Haru, you have to call me Makoto, okay?” Tachibana's, no, _Makoto's_ soft laughter feels like it pops against Haruka's skin in little bubbles, leaving circles of warmth and blushing. Haruka simply nods again, not trusting his voice.

“Okay then, Haru. See you in class!” Tachibana – Makoto – says, flashing one last gentle smile Haruka's way as he picks up his bag and leaves the studio, the door locking shut behind him with a soft clack that emphasizes the heavy silence that falls afterwards, leaving Haruka feeling as if he's been locked away from the world itself.

Slowly, Haruka sinks to the ground, covering his head with his arms as he balls into a crouch.

He thinks that maybe it's a good thing that he did not live in Iwatobi, growing up side by side with that soft smile and gentle gaze.

If he did, he doesn't think he'd be able to let them go to someone else without breaking.


	11. Chapter 11

“You look like shit,” Hazuki cheerfully informs him when Haruka shows up for work the next day.

Haruka just stares at Hazuki with the flattest gaze he can muster as he moves to take over the cleaning duties. He's aware of that, thank you.

After Makoto had left yesterday, Haruka had spent maybe ten minutes curled into a ball of self-pity on the studio floor. Eventually, he'd managed to push the gloom back to stand back up, and the half-finished painting caught his eye. The inspiration had still been strong, and so he'd been quickly reabsorbed into the painting. It wasn't the same alternate reality feeling as when Makoto had been there, but he'd still lost track of the hours until he'd sat up straight with a wince after putting a final brushstroke of glitter onto the waves and realized that it was two in the morning. His body creaked and screamed with the abuse of being hunched over a canvas with no breaks for an entire day, and exhaustion suddenly poured in as if someone had turned on a tap. He'd only managed the bare amount of cleanup before staggering back to his dorm like a zombie and passing out on his bed.

Despite his late night, however, his body had woken him up at five-thirty as usual, this time with a myriad of complaints about the fact that he hadn't bothered to give it sustenance since Saturday and the beginnings of a dehydration headache worrying at his temples.

Even after breakfast, three bottles of water, and a two-hour soak in the bath Haruka still felt half-dead. After all, unless he skipped sleeping completely, his body was very used to going to bed at ten and waking up sometime five or after every day. His body didn't like changes anymore than Haruka himself did.

So he'd gone through his day feeling like a canvas scraped of its paint, threadbare and blank, and now he has to suffer through a six-hour shift of Hazuki and annoying customers.

Haruka is seriously debating the merits of having gotten out of bed at all this morning.

“So, long night?” Hazuki leers, eyebrows doing an impressive imitation of caterpillars. Haruka's not sure what that's supposed to mean.

“Painting,” Haruka replies shortly, not really in the mood to deal with Hazuki. He's so _tired_. He grabs a cleaning rag and starts wiping down the counters – Hazuki's terrible at cleanup.

“Ugh, you're never any fun!” Haruka can practically hear Hazuki roll his eyes. “I swear, everyone I know is all about their college work. Where's the adventure?”

Haruka just shakes his head slightly, not wanting to deal with Hazuki's dramatics. The bell over the door rings at that moment, causing Haruka's shoulders to slump slightly. From Hazuki to customers, which is worse?

“Nanase-senpai?”

Make that customers he knows. Haruka looks up from the counter to see Ryugazaki standing there, dressed in some sort of jogging outfit and looking at Haruka in ill-concealed surprise. Is it so surprising that Haruka has a job?

Well, a job involving customer service, probably.

“Ryugazaki.” Haruka inclines his head. Ryugazaki is fine, he's neat and polite and probably won't be a horrible customer. He wonders if he's ever come here before – Haruka's never seen him, but that doesn't mean anything. “What can I get you?”

“I would like a...ah!” Ryugazaki's gaze drifts from Haruka to the menu, and as he slides his eyes along it they alight on Hazuki and Ryugazaki reacts instantly. Haruka watches as his normally composed, sometimes completely insane studio partner suddenly leans over the counter, face intense and delighted. “You! You're perfect!”

“Hah!?” Hazuki leans back, face a mixture between offended and befuddled. It's a common reaction to Ryugazaki when he's in one of his moods, as Haruka's found. “Perfect for what!? Sorry, I'm not a product if you're into that kind of thing, ask Nanase-kun for that service.”

“What?” Haruka and Ryugazaki respond simultaneously – Ryugazaki out of genuine confusion, Haruka's flat and unamused. Haruka may be free with his attentions, but he's not _easy_ , thank you very much. And he'd never do anything like _that_ with Ryugazaki, he'd probably try to triangulate proper thrusting angles for maximum beauty or something. The idea causes Haruka to shudder a bit.

Ryugazaki shakes his head slightly, pushing his glasses back up in his odd way. “I'm sorry, but I do not need Nanase-senpai, he does not fit my specifications. He is too tall and lanky. You, however, you have the perfect form! Absolutely beautiful! Please accompany me!”

During his rant, Ryugazaki goes back to leaning over the counter, one hand pressed onto the marble surface and the other clenched in a fist as Ryugazaki's eyes shine with the demented light Haruka recognizes when the younger man gets some idea about beauty in his head. Haruka has a feeling he knows what's going on – he's listened to Ryugazaki bemoan the topic countless times in the studio – but the sheer bafflement on Hazuki's face when he's normally the one messing with others is admittedly pretty amusing.

Hazuki leans back, face twisted into a mix of disgust and confusion. “Uh, really, I'm not...”

Haruka decides that, while amusing, he should probably save Ryugazaki from Hazuki's assumptions. His studio partner is a good guy, if a little weird. “He's asking you to model his clothes for him, Hazuki.”

The duo glance over at Haruka in mild surprise – he doesn't insert himself into conversations often, or at all, after all. Hazuki's face shows sudden comprehension, while Ryugazaki straightens up and nudges his glasses again. “Of course I was, was it not obvious?”

“What's obvious about a guy coming in and calling another guy 'perfect' and 'beautiful'? Do you listen to the words coming out of your mouth? It sounded like you were trying to buy me for a date,” Hazuki replies, voice heavily sardonic, and Ryugazaki's face goes bright red. Before the high-strung man can reply though, Hazuki continues. “Listen, I'm flattered, but I'm not model material, I'm just little shrimpy Nagisa. Nanase-kun's way better, he should be a model, but I'm just not cut out for that.”

Ryuzagaki frowns, crossing his arms. “I am aware that Nanase-senpai is very beautiful, but like I said, his form does not fit my visions. Yours is much more suited. Please, will you at least consider my offer? I have been searching for months and you're the best match by far! So at the very least, please consider it.”

He pulls out a business card – what kind of college first-year already has business cards? – and holds it out with both hands. After a moment, Hazuki hesitantly takes it. “Uh...okay...”

Ryugazaki straightens up from the slight bow he'd gone into before turning to face Haruka once again. “I'm sorry for the interruption, Nanase-senpai. I would like a iced barley tea to go, please.”

Haruka nods, punching in the numbers for his order, glad for the return to reality. Really, this is why he didn't want to get closer to other people, it's too troublesome. Hazuki holds the business card as if it's poisoned for a moment, before shoving it in his coat pocket and walking off to make Ryugazaki's order. After he hands over the required money – exact to the smallest yen – Ryugazaki and Haruka are left standing in awkward silence. Haruka keeps his gaze focused on the register, hoping Ryugazaki doesn't decide to be chatty.

Unfortunately, Haruka's luck has been at rock bottom this last month practically, and after a few moments his underclassman speaks. “I was not aware you worked here, Nanase-senpai.”

Haruka just shrugs. He doesn't know why it's such a big deal, really. “Now you do.”

“I usually stop in this store after my morning jog, it is one of the few open during that time along my route. Their tea is very high-quality and nutritionally-balanced for my regimen, so I kept returning.” That would explain why he's never seen Ryugazaki – Haruka almost always works afternoon or evening shifts. In fact he's not even really sure of who works in the mornings, he's never shared shifts with any of the names on that half of the schedule. “Do you like the drinks here, Nanase-senpai? Is that why you work here?”

“I don't know, I only drink water. It's a job.” Haruka hopes his terse tone will discourage further conversation. Ryugazaki looks surprised – well, it is probably weird to work in a cafe and never sample their menu – but Haruka's saved from more awkwardly-forced conversation when Hazuki reappears with a to-go cup filled with brown tea. Ryugazaki's order, then.

“Here you go, one barley tea!” Hazuki, much better at customer service and apparently having recovered from his odd introduction to Ryugazaki, plops the cup on the counter.

Ryugazaki nods, taking the cup. “Thank you very much. Please give my offer further thought. See you again, Nanase-senpai, Hazuki-kun.”

And with that, the daily disruption walks out of the cafe.

Hazuki immediately groans and slumps over the counter. “What the hell, what's with that guy!? Is he really an acquaintance of yours, you know the weirdest fucking people. And how did he know my name? Creepy!”

“Your nametag is right there on your apron,” Haruka points out, because Ryugazaki isn't creepy, just... _odd_. And that is saying a lot, coming from Haruka. Hazuki starts a bit, before looking down at his tag and covering it with a hand, face torn between a grimace and laughing at himself.

“Well, okay, you got me there. But that was still weird. Are all you art students this freaky? Wait, I don't think I want to know. Demanding people to model for them like they're proposing...so weird!” Hazuki keeps complaining as he straightens up and moves to collect some mugs left on the counter by departing customers.

Haruka just shrugs, looking down at the cash register. Still, Hazuki's words stick at him, a little. Is he really...weird? He's never been the easiest person to get along with, he knows, and for the most part that doesn't bother him. He doesn't need to get along with others – he's fine by himself.

Or so he thought, before he met Makoto.

Does Makoto think he's weird? He's never cared what individual people think of him before, not even Ken or Yoshida, but the thought of Makoto finding him _weird_ sends a pang through his chest. Does Makoto get uncomfortable with his blank stares? Does his tactful nature hide how uneasy he is with Haruka's silence in their conversations?

Are they truly _friends_?

Haruka's hand stills over the register. He knows it's part of this whole “liking” mess, but the thought of not being Makoto's actual friend is...painful. Even if it's confusing, even if the thought of his feelings never being returned _hurts_ , the thought of not having Makoto in his life at all is even worse. Even if it's just friends, even if he has to watch as Makoto dates countless girls until he'll find The One and marry her and have a herd of kids and be happy, that bittersweet pain is still better than losing that smile altogether.

And Haruka knows that he's really, in all honesty, kind of a bad friend. He doesn't know Makoto's birthday, or what kind of hobbies he has outside of writing. He's never treated Makoto, or tried to make him feel better. He's supposed to like the guy, but he's not even putting effort into their relationship. Makoto's the one doing all the work.

Haruka doesn't think he likes this feeling, much.

He stews on it for the rest of his shift, his temper fouling into mulish stubbornness, enough for even Hazuki to start giving him a wide berth. It's not right. If he likes the guy, shouldn't he at least make an effort to be friends with him? It's not like Haruka is expecting anything out of it – again, that whole “being straight” mess – but at the very least he could walk away from this with an actual _friend_.

Like he imagined they would be, so long ago.

He decides, at the end of his shift, what he's going to do.

He closes the shop in record time, practically throwing the apron off and running out the door. He's already fumbling his phone out of his pocket when the door shuts behind him, sliding it open and thumbing through his menus to his rarely-used Contacts list. After a moment's hesitation, he presses the Call button on a certain name and holds the phone to his ear tentatively, like it will bite him.

It's already past eleven, he's probably not even awake, what is Haru _doing_ –

A click. Makoto's voice sounds over the line, soft and confused but very much awake. “Hello? Haru?”

Haruka stops in the middle of the sidewalk, freezing still. He answered. Makoto picked up and Haruka is talking to him on the phone. What does he even say?

“Makoto,” he manages after an awkward pause, because it's some sort of greeting and he should do that over the phone.

“Ah, it is you, Haru!” Makoto's voice sounds cheerful, happy that he called. Haruka's toes curl in his shoes. “What's up? It's pretty late, did you need something?”

Haruka takes a shaky breath. What does he need? ' _I need to be your friend_ ,' but he can't say that. His mind spins in circles, trying to find words. What do friends do? What does Makoto do with his friends? A flash of brown hair and barrettes pop into his mind and he's speaking before he knows it.

“Movies,” he blurts out, voice flat and a little surprised. But it makes sense, right? Friends go to movies. Makoto goes to movies a lot with his dates, so he must like them. “You like them, so we should go. To them. The movies. This weekend.”

Haruka's hand is starting to shake – what is he even saying? He doesn't like movies – or rather, never saw the point in them. Nothing ever looked interesting. It's the only thing he can think of, but it's so stupid, bland, inane, Makoto's probably seen everything out already with all the dates he goes on, is probably taking a date there this weekend already and Haruka is dumb and stupid and _why is he doing this_ –

“The movies? Sure! I don't have anything planned this weekend, so I'd love to go with you! Say, Friday at seven? There's...um. Well. There's this movie I really want to see, but I kind of...can't go alone. And I-I didn't have anyone to take, so...um. I'd really like it if you'd go with me.” Shyness creeps into Makoto's voice during the end, and Haruka is stricken with the inexplicable urge to tell him it's okay. Haruka is weird and eats too much mackerel and Hazuki calls him a lizard all the time, nothing Makoto does is reason to be shy. He's perfect.

Haruka feels his cheeks go red, and he clears his throat a little. “...O-Okay. Firday at seven. The...student cafe. We'll meet there.”

“Okay! See you then, Haru, I can't wait!” A soft laugh drifts over the line and Haruka squeezes his phone tighter. Over the phone, it's weirder, more intimate, like Makoto's laugh is being delivered directly into his brain. He's not sure he likes it, it's a little overwhelming.

“Did you need anything else?” Makoto asks, and Haruka shakes his head, then feels dumb when he realizes Makoto can't see him and so he can't rely on his non-verbal cues – which, unfortunately, make up the majority of his conversational skills. “No.”

“Then, it's pretty late, I should be going to bed. You too! See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Haruka manages, voice breathy because that's right, tomorrow is Tuesday, he has Creative Writing Tuesday. He'll see Makoto. Suddenly tomorrow can't come fast enough.

“Goodnight then, Haru.” Makoto's voice is warm, warm enough that Haruka feels stifled in his jacket, like a second round of summer has come, and he only manage an affirmative noise before he has to hang up abruptly and bury his face in his scarf to erase his red cheeks from the world. He clenches his aqua blue phone in his hand, suddenly aware of how precious a tool the little annoying device can be. It can instantly connect him to Makoto, make future plans together. They can talk no matter the physical distance between them.

He's going to see Makoto tomorrow, and they're going to the movies on Friday like _friends_ , and Haruka's steps are so light as he walks back to his dorm it feels like he flew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit look at this. Look at what coffee does to me. BEHOLD THE POWER OF CAFFEINE and an extra hour before work because my dryer crapped out lawl.

**Author's Note:**

> As always if you enjoy my work, come follow me at clover-magic.tumblr.com if you'd like first-hand updates, talking to me, or just listening to me flailing around like a dumb.


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